


some things are worth repeating

by neenswrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Cultivator!Kozume Kenma, Dramatic Irony, Getting to Know Each Other, God!Kuroo Tetsurou, High Chinese Fantasy AU, M/M, Memory Alteration, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pining, Xianxia AU, god just so much pining oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28309077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenswrites/pseuds/neenswrites
Summary: “I have nothing,” Kuroo said to him, bowing low before him. “I ascended barely a moment ago, and have neither worships nor followers. But I beg of you, please - save the life of Kozume Kenma.”“I’ll do it - but on one condition.” Daishou sat up taller on the chair he was lounging in, tilting his head down at Kuroo. “Kozume Kenma will be saved. In exchange, he will lose all memory of you, Kuroo Tetsurou.”Kuroo inhaled sharply at the terms of the deal.To the god Daishou, he’d just stripped Kuroo of who would’ve been his most devout follower. To Kuroo, Daishou had just stripped him of the love of his life.-After an awful turn of events leaves Kenma stranded in the Seijoh Clan, his only goal is to get back to Nekoma. The strange man named Kuroo is a worthy distraction, though.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 176
Collections: Kuroken Christmas Exchange 2020





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [got2ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/got2ghost/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS [CHI](https://twitter.com/got2ghost) ILYYYYYYYYYYYY
> 
> (you should check out chi's art if you havent its wonderful)
> 
> GOD I JUST OWE BOTH THIS LIFE AND MY NEXT LIFE TO [CHRISTY](https://twitter.com/kodzukuro) AND [EN](https://twitter.com/8ya_en)!! CHRISTY FOR BETA READING THIS AND MAKING HALF OF THIS FIC EVEN INTELLIGIBLE AND EN FOR BEING MY OFFICIAL CONSULTANT ON ALL THING XIANXIA THIS FIC WOULD LITERALLY NOT EXIST WITHOUT HER GUIDANCE, THEY ARE BOTH ANGELS AND WONDERFUL
> 
> (also check out en's art if you havent its wonderful)
> 
> SO.
> 
> HERE'S 27K OF KUROKEN ALSKDJFASDLKFJ

Once, in a quiet little clan nestled in the hills, were two best friends: Kuroo Tetsurou and Kozume Kenma.

They spent almost every hour together, and even when apart they had each other in mind. 

They were both also gifted with golden cores - with the innate ability to cultivate, and even possibly ascend to godhood. 

The Tetsurou family was elated when they realized. At a young age, Kuroo began his training in the art of cultivation. He worked diligently, following the instructions of his teachers closely and heeding the expectations of his family as well as he could.

Kenma, on the other hand, had neither the drive nor desire to master cultivation at any level. Nothing about ascension appealed to him - it only guaranteed an eternity of fixing the problems of others. His family did encourage him at first to do something with his gift, but they gave up after many failed attempts. 

The most closest Kenma ever got was learning to play the _paixiao_. He learned to play the handheld pan flute only because Kuroo struggled with it, and Kenma was curious about the one thing his best friend seemed unable to conquer. Kuroo told him he ought to learn how to use the instrument as a weapon, but Kenma only listened absentmindedly. 

He had no reason to care.

So the two boys grew up together, going from children to men, all while Kuroo’s abilities grew and Kenma’s skill at the paixiao blossomed. And yet, Kuroo never ascended. 

Many didn’t understand why - Kuroo was practically the walking picture of who ought to be ascended.

Others whispered it was because that Kozume Kenma was tying him down.

Kuroo would simply shrug and say that it just must not be time yet. However, he never looked upset about it. In fact, most people could recognize the look on his face as relief.

And oh, how Kuroo’s relief flamed the jealousy of cultivators from other clans. And none more so than Shishio Aritaka, who wanted nothing more than to ascend to godhood.

Every day, as words of Kuroo’s skill and ambivalence toward that skill spread, Shishio’s jealousy twisted to anger and hatred until all he was consumed with was the thought of taking Kuroo down - and his little friend with him.

Truly, it was almost all too easy. Neither Kuroo nor Kenma had any knowledge of enemies lurking in the shadows, so they never had their guard up. All it took was one autumn fishing trip, just the two of them, and the malevolent water demon Shishio needed only release at them.

Their boat was completely destroyed. 

Their clothes were ripped, and damaged past recognition.

The demon was destroyed by Kuroo eventually, but the waters had already done their damage on Kenma.

He laid on the shore, dragged there by Kuroo, lungs full of water and heart unmoving in his chest.

Kuroo cried out loudly once, and then in the next moment, he ascended. 

There was no rhyme nor rhythm to ascension. One could be in the middle of a meal, or finishing off the greatest demon known to man - it made no difference. When someone ascends, they merely ascend.

However, once Kuroo realized what happened, he couldn’t help but feel the universe was on his side. 

As soon as he reached the heavens, Kuroo rushed to the first powerful god he could find.

He ended up finding the Martial God Daishou.

“I have nothing,” Kuroo said to him, bowing low before him. “I ascended barely a moment ago, and have neither worship nor followers. But I beg of you, please - save the life of Kozume Kenma.”

Daishou looked down at Kuroo Tetsurou. He heard of the man already, the gods already talking about how his power as a mortal would only grow exponentially once he ascended. He had also heard whispers about the other golden core mortal who was always at his side.

Daishou grinned. 

“I’ll do it - but on one condition.” Daishou sat up taller on the chair he was lounging in, tilting his head down at Kuroo. “Kozume Kenma will be saved. In exchange, he will lose all memory of you, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Kuroo inhaled sharply at the terms, disbelief and heartbreak filling him to the brim; but still, he agreed immediately. Of course he did. 

To the god Daishou, he’d just stripped Kuroo of who would’ve been his most devout follower. To Kuroo, Daishou had just stripped him of the love of his life.

But there was one very important thing to note. 

The Gods hadn’t said that Kuroo could never talk to Kenma again.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenma eyes jolted open as his entire body seized up before he began hacking up water. He caught himself on his side, his chest heaving as he tried desperately to gather up air. Distantly, he registered the fact that he was drenched from head to toe, that he didn’t recognize any of the land around him, that he had been on the verge of dying just then.

_ What happened? _

Kenma slowly sat up properly and surveyed the area around him, trying to both calm his breathing and to figure out what was going on.

He remembered a boat. 

He remembered fishing.

He remembered a pair of hands, too large to be his own.

Pain erupted in Kenma’s temple, and he leaned forward to catch his head in his hands. 

No. That wasn’t right at all. Kenma had been out fishing alone.

And he must’ve caught a current or whirlpool or something, and capsized the boat, landing him on this shore.

Kenma frowned. This strange, unfamiliar shore. 

Turning to look more fully at the area around him, Kenma tried not to let panic bubble in his chest. He had no clue where he was, but Kenma was positive he wasn’t in Nekoma anymore - which was a rather dangerous thing for a cultivator. All clans had enemies and allies alike, and Kenma wasn’t going to pretend like Nekoma didn't have its fair share of rivalries. 

Kenma shook his head, trying to clear himself of those thoughts. He may not know where he was, but he did know he needed to survive. He needed to get out of there, get back to his clan and family, and do so as quickly as possible. 

Looking down at his clothes, Kenma grimaced as he took in the state of them. Between the rips, damages, and fading, he doubted anyone would be able to recognize them as Nekoma robes. 

Still, better safe than sorry.

Kenma began searching his clothes for anything with the seal of Nekoma, and tore them off his robes. As his finger brushed against his pocket, Kenma stilled as he felt something. 

Pulling the object from his pocket, Kenma was surprised to see a xiangqi piece. The round, flat piece was smooth to the touch, and Kenma brought it up to his face to inspect it further. It was crafted of a beautiful porcelain, the bright red character for general engraved so cleanly that Kenma wandered at the craftsmanship.

Kenma had never seen this piece before in his life.

Make no mistake, Kenma loved to play the game xiangqi - he loved the strategy that came with it, loved that it was a one on one game so it never warranted a crowd, loved seeing the pieces lined on each side of the board and how his opponent’s would slowly dwindle as he conquered them with ease.

But his family’s set of xiangqi was metal, sturdy and well worn. The few times he played with Fukunaga or Yamamoto, they visited him since they had no set of their own.

So where on earth had this piece come from and how had it ended up in his pocket?

“It’s rather pretty,” Kenma said quietly to himself, his voice still raw, but his mind transfixed on the piece. 

There was no sign of Nekoma on it, but it still brought comfort to Kenma for some reason. Sliding it back into his pocket, Kenma figured he’d treat the piece as a token. It was a miracle he was still alive to begin with.

Maybe it was his new good luck charm.

Huffing a quiet laugh to himself, Kenma finally picked himself off the ground. His body ached as he moved, but it was bearable. 

Now to try and find some sign of life.

Kenma made his way north of the river, where the forest surrounding the area looked less dense. If there were any clans or towns nearby, chances were they’d be somewhere near the water. Eventually, Kenma found a footpath, and followed that until he could see just the dimmest signs of light on the horizon.

Kenma wasn’t sure what he expected when he started his trek away from the shore, but as he ran up until the lights became closer, Kenma knew he most definitely was not expecting to see bright teal sigils hung up along the path.

Seijoh. Kenma had somehow managed to find himself in Seijoh, a clan so far from Nekoma that Kenma had never bothered learning where it was placed on a map. 

“Unbelievable,” Kenma said, feeling hopelessness start to rise in him. He was lost, incredibly far from home, with no money or a way to communicate with his family.

The severity of the situation started to catch up to Kenma, and he began to feel tears collecting in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, and he clamped his teeth down on his lip bottom to try and stifle back the sobs rising in his throat.

“Hey, you!”

Kenma nearly jumped at the shout, and he whipped his head around to see a man a fair bit taller than him heading his way.

Kenma took a single step back, until he noticed the look on the man’s face was one of concern. Not like Kenma could blame him. His clothes were ruined, his ponytail was half falling out, and the hair that framed his face was stiff and scratchy. Kenma would be concerned if he saw someone as ruined as he was. 

“Sorry if I startled you,” the man said, his gruff voice much quieter now. “I just wanted to get your attention.”

“Why did you want my attention?” Kenma asked, still wary. Despite his tone, this man was clearly from Seijoh. His clothes looked simple at first, but Kenma was from a clan of cultivators. The fine threading and evenness of the colors on the stranger’s robes made it clear that this man was no simpleton, and was almost definitely a cultivator too.

Therefore, he was dangerous. 

“Because you look a few minutes away from collapsing,” the man said flatly, before he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his spiky hair. “Look, I’m just trying to offer you some help. If you want it.”

And normally Kenma would be untrusting. People don’t just offer people things for nothing, and Kenma clearly didn’t have much to offer. 

But his stomach was empty and his limbs were aching, and if this man intended to cause him some harm, then he probably would’ve done so already.

So Kenma just nodded his head with a small, “That would be nice.”

The man nodded back, and then silently began to lead Kenma towards the outskirts of the city. 

Kenma tried not to let his suspicions rise as they continued walking just outside where the collection of lights was the strongest. The Seijoh man didn’t seem all that talkative, which was just fine with Kenma, but he refused to let his guard down.

It wouldn’t be much of a fight, but Kenma would try to go down swinging. 

Finally, the stranger cleared his throat.

“This is it,” he said, and Kenma followed his gaze to see a nicely sized home sitting quite a distance away from its neighbors. “Come inside, and I can get you something to eat.”

Kenma followed dutifully after the man, and once he stepped inside the home he nearly melted. The evening air had been brisk against his skin, and already the warmth of the house made him feel exponentially better.

“You can wait here,” the man added, leading Kenma down a hall before opening a door. “I can get--”

“Iwa-chan, you’re finally back!”

Kenma blinked at the sound of another voice at the same time the stranger grimaced. Kenma walked into the room after the stranger, and his lips parted at the beautiful man in white robes sitting at the table. He was staring up at the ‘Iwa’ man with wide eyes, until he finally registered Kenma.

The other man’s smile shifted from something genuine to something calculating in a single moment, and the transition made chills rise on Kenma’s arms.

“Iwa-chan,” the man said, his voice syrupy sweet as he kept his eyes trained on Kenma. “Who is this man and why does he look like… that?”

Kenma glanced over at the man apparently called Iwa-chan, and was able to catch the way his eyebrows twitched in annoyance.

“I found him just walking around,” Iwa-chan said with a scowl. Kenma frowned. The name just didn’t quite match the man. “He was hurt and needed help.”

Kenma didn’t quite appreciate being spoken about as if he wasn’t there, but he wasn’t quite keen on speaking to the other man. 

“And why are you so hurt and in need of help?” The man in white stood up then, and Kenma tried not to let his eyes widen at his height. “Up to no good, perhaps?”

Kenma was pretty sure nothing about him screamed the type to pick fights, but he also wasn’t just a friendly neighbor. Seijoh and Nekoma weren’t enemies, but they were separate clans for a reason. The possibility they could see him as a trespasser was very likely, and Kenma had no clue how Seijoh treated their trespassers.

Kenma weighed his options in his mind quickly, before dragging making eye contact with the man.

“I lost my memory,” Kenma lied effortlessly. It was an easy out, and would require the least amount of effort to keep up with. With memory loss, Kenma’s background could be as complex or simple as the other two wanted to make it. And based on everything about him, he was sure it would be simple. 

Until they both froze at his words.

“Memory loss,” the man repeated slowly. 

“Oikawa,” Iwa-chan started, but the other man - Oikawa - interrupted him with a quick shush.

“So you don’t remember a single thing that happened to you?” Oikawa pressed, coming just a couple steps closer. “How you got here, why your clothes are so torn up, what you were doing?”

“I don’t even remember where I’m from,” Kenma added. The more he said that he had forgotten, the more he could keep from the men.

“How convenient,” Oikawa drawled, and Kenma tried not to tense up. But then the man sighed, and plopped down onto a seat. “Well, do you at least remember your name?”

Kenma paused. He could come up with a fake one… but he already hid everything else about him. Besides, learning to respond to a completely new name would be too much work.

“My name is Kenma,” he said, bowing his head down respectfully. “Kozume Kenma.”

Head lowered, Kenma missed the way both men’s eyes widened. 

“Well, I would never be so rude as to deny food to someone as needy as little Ken-chan,” Oikawa said with a sigh.

Kenma had several complaints about Oikawa’s single statement, but Iwa-chan beat him to it.

“We were going to give him food either way.” The man punctuated his words with a quick hit to the back of Oikawa’s head. Ignoring Oikawa’s stunned yelp, he turned to Kenma and said, “Sorry about all that. My name is Iwaizumi, and this--”

“ _ I _ am Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa said, stepping directly behind Iwaizumi to wrap his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist. “The love of Iwa-chan’s life.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi said, patting the top of Oikawa’s head, but not refuting his words.

“Right,” Kenma said, eyes shifting back and forth between Oikawa and Iwaizumi with hesitance. Oikawa’s complete switch in behavior put him a little on edge, but Iwaizumi seemed reliable enough. “Um, is there any way either of you have a map? To see if it can jog my memory?”

“You’re lucky you stumbled across a home as scholarly as ours,” Oikawa said sagely. “I shall go fetch you one of our many, many maps.”

“Just go get a map, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi said with patience Kenma couldn’t dream of having. “Kenma-san, you can have a seat and I’ll go grab you some food.”

Kenma waited until Oikawa left the room, sulking and mumbling about Iwaizumi as he did, before sliding into a seat at the table. 

As strange as the pair was, it didn’t seem as though Iwaizumi or Oikawa planned to hurt him. Still, Kenma felt his anxiety begin demanding questions from him.

What was he going to do after this? How was he going to afford to get home? Where was he going to sleep? Where could he find new clothes?

Before he could think twice of it, Kenma was stuffing his hand in his pocket, and rubbing his thumb over the xiangqi piece again. At the feeling of the cool porcelain, he felt his heart begin to calm.

“Here,” Iwaizumi said, interrupting Kenma’s thoughts. He opened his eyes, not even aware that he’d closed them, and saw Iwaizumi looking at Kenma with an amused expression on his face. “You can have some winter melon soup. It’s nothing fancy, but at least it’ll warm you up.”

Fancy or not, looking down at the bowl of warm broth, the smell of cooked winter melon and shiitake mushrooms made Kenma’s mouth water.

“Thank you,” he said quickly, before digging into the soup.

Iwaizumi huffed out a laugh. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

Kenma shrugged in response. He didn’t with people he was new to, but he knew how to open up. He remembered the screaming match he’d had with Tora that one time. Everyone had been so shocked, but Tora had just met Kenma word for word.

“I found it!” Kenma lifted his head up to see Oikawa practically prancing back in the room. “I even found our most detailed one, so as to help jog up as many memories as possible for Ken-chan.”

“Stop calling me that,” Kenma said around a mouthful of food.

“Get better manners,” Oikawa said with a scrunch of his nose. 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi snatched the map from Oikawa, and opened it up on the table. Glancing at Kenma, he turned his eyes back to the map with a furrowed brow and asked, “Anything look familiar?”

Kenma couldn’t even begin thinking of a response - because he was too busy looking at the vast distance between Seijoh and Nekoma.

They were on practically opposite sides of the country, and as Kenma saw the mountains, rivers, and many, many different clans between them, he felt tears sting at his eyes again.

It was going to take so much money and so many resources to get back home, and work to get that money and resources, and time until he could save enough.

It would be a long while before he had another screaming match with Tora.

“Nothing rings a bell,” Kenma answered, his voice hoarse and straining. He dropped his eyes back to his bowl, and tried not to think too hard about how he wished he had his mother’s cooking instead. 

There was a beat of silence above him, before he felt a gentle hand being placed on his shoulder.

“Kenma-san,” Oikawa said softly, saying his name correctly for the first time. “I can’t imagine your confusion right now, but you’re more than welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to.”

Kenma’s mouth parted in surprise and his eyes flicked back and forth between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “What?”

“Our house is big enough to host an extra family,” Iwaizumi said from behind Oikawa’s shoulder, a reassuring grin on his face. “It really wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You don’t even know me,” Kenma said with a furrowed brow, speaking more to himself. Looking back up at the two men, he continued, “Don’t you two need to talk this over more? Or something?”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi shared a single look, before Oikawa was looking back at Kenma was an actual, real smile. “Neither of us are the type to turn away someone in need.”

And really, Kenma should probably be just a little more wary or hesitant about this. How many people really just let a complete stranger into their homes without anything in exchange? 

But Kenma was tired, and cold, and honestly just sad, and he wanted today to have at least one win for him. 

“That would be really nice,” Kenma said, gaze lowering as he bowed in thanks. “Thank you both for your kindness.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi shared another look, before Oikawa set his hand on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma looked back up at him, and Oikawa smiled. “It’s what friends are for.”

Kenma tried to keep the look of shock off his face. He’d known the two men for less than a few hours, and they already considered him a friend?

Seijoh was quite different from Nekoma. 

But in this instance, this worked for Kenma. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had a spare room for Kenma that was far enough from the main room to offer Kenma plenty of privacy. They never asked him to do much, save small things like helping to hang the laundry or dicing up a vegetable. 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa themselves were a bit strange to Kenma. They were friendly with their neighbors, but for whatever reason they chose to live on the very outskirts of the city. They both looked incredibly strong, but mostly spent their days reading or writing or gossiping. They walked and held themselves almost like royalty, but everything else about their life was so unassuming.

Until one day, Kenma noticed the sword held above a wardrobe in Oikawa’s study. Not just any sword though. 

Kenma eyed the gleam of the sword, it’s shine and sharpness. This was a cultivator’s sword.

The thought both intrigued and terrified him. If Iwaizumi and Oikawa were cultivators - real cultivators, unlike Kenma who had the ability but didn’t do anything with it - then that meant they were even more powerful than he’d thought.

That also doubled Kenma’s curiosity as to why they lived the life they did. 

“Did Kenma-kun finally find my sword?”

Oikawa’s voice rang out from behind Kenma. He whirled around immediately, and found Oikawa leaning against the entryway to the study. He didn’t look upset, but his eyes held a glint that still made Kenma uneasy.

“Don’t call me that,” Kenma said in response, hoping the rejection would distract Oikawa from whatever was going through his mind. 

“I can’t call you Ken-chan, I can’t call you Kenma-kun, can I even call you anything at all?” Oikawa complained with a pout. Kenma was just about to say that Oikawa could simply call him by his  _ name _ when Oikawa added, “I could show you how to use that, if you’d like.”

Kenma stilled. Oikawa’s gaze was heavy on him, and Kenma weighed his options. 

One the one hand, there was a large part of Kenma that wanted to learn. He hadn’t cared about cultivation when he was home because there was no reason for him to care. But Kenma was a far way from home now, and if he wanted to get back he was going to need to know how to protect himself.

One the other hand, this felt sort of like a test. Kenma could play dumb and pretend like he didn’t know just what kind of sword was hanging on the wall, but the moment he used it, the lie would be up. He could just admit to having a golden core, but it was just as suspicious that he hid that information for as long as he had. 

Still, Oikawa hadn’t mentioned being a cultivator either. Neither one of them had the moral high ground in this situation.

“I don’t know much of anything about how to cultivate,” Kenma stated, deciding to simply rip the bandaid off. 

Oikawa’s eyebrows lifted just barely in surprise, but his smile looked pleased. 

“You know enough to recognize a weapon like that though,” Oikawa replied with a shrug, already walking up to pull the sword from the wall. 

Kenma wanted to protest, to say that his knowledge only came from being around cultivation so much growing up, but he was supposed to be an amnesiac. Plus, the explanation felt lacking even in its truth. Now that Oikawa mentioned it, Kenma wasn’t really exactly sure how he knew the sword above was a tool of cultivation. He just did.

Oikawa leaving the room with the sword in his hand pulled Kenma from his thoughts.

“Wait, are we starting now?” Kenma asked, his voice rising in alarm.

“No better time than the present,” Oikawa called out, and Kenma followed him to the backyard with rising doom.

Training with Oikawa was… an ordeal. The man was incredibly talented ― his moves were quick, strong, all done efficiently with no wasted movement. 

Kenma was not nearly as skilled, and Oikawa drilled him until the poor man was about to sway on his feet. It became part of their weekly routine - Kenma would meet with Oikawa and practiced both cultivation and his general swordsmanship, all while Oikawa teased him relentlessly.

Luckily, what Kenma lacked in skill, he made up for plenty in cunning. 

“Ken-chan that’s cheating,” Oikawa said from his spot on the ground. They were going over proper sword wielding technique - no cultivation required - and Kenma had just managed to knock Oikawa on his feet for the seventh time that day. It was a new record.

And Iwaizumi’s topless presence on the deck was not at all Kenma’s fault. 

“How am I cheating?” Kenma asked blandly, not even offering a hand to help Oikawa back up.

“You, you, you keep  _ moving _ ,” Oikawa sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at Kenma. “You move until Iwa-chan is perfectly in my line of vision, and then you strike while I’m distracted!”

“Don’t get distracted,” Kenma said with a shrug, and Oikawa narrowed his eyes at Kenma like he was stupid. 

“Kenma, you’ve knocked Oikawa around enough for today,” Iwaizumi called out. “Come over here so we can go over your recovery.”

Kenma huffed laughter at the high, offended noise Oikawa let out and made his way to Iwaizumi ― after properly helping Oikawa back up.

“Is your shoulder still bothering you?” Iwaizumi asked as Kenma approached, and Kenma just shook his head. He’d strained it a little too much a few days ago during a training session with Oikawa, but Iwaizumi showed him the best way to wrap it so the pain would subside as quickly as possible.

He also lectured Kenma for about an hour on the importance of proper stretching.

Between Oikawa teaching him how to cultivate and Iwaizumi teaching him how to tend to his injuries, it was almost like the two men were sent from above to make sure Kenma was able to defend himself.

It was strange, seeing the two of them as a strong, powerful duo, and also seeing them as a couple who spent some nights reenacting their favorite plays for each other.

They farmed as well, never for sales, but only for themselves. It was a recent hobby of the two that apparently yielded them with...mixed results.

“Oikawa is terrible at farming,” Iwaizumi said, grunting as he pruned a particularly stubborn plant. Kenma picked quietly at a different sprout, listening quietly as Iwaizumi spoke. “He doesn’t have the patience for it.”

“I am  _ not  _ terrible,” Oikawa said from his spot on a blanket spread over the grass. “You just grow the plants wrong, so they don’t listen to me properly.”

“That’s not how farming works, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi said with a sigh, before heaving up onto his feet. “Unfortunately, I don’t really have the patience for it either. So our crops are usually… mediocre at best.”

“I can help,” Kenma offered. Both Iwaizumi and Oikawa looked at him in surprise and Kenma tried to not purse his lips in annoyance. “I mean, the work isn’t all that taxing, and the temperature is much cooler since it’s well into autumn.”

“You’re more than welcome to if you’d like.” Iwaizumi grinned as he spoke, glancing over to Oikawa. “Can’t be any worse than him, at least.”

Kenma shrugged, eyes trailing away from the couple as they started bickering. Oikawa and Iwaizumi rarely ever asked that Kenma help with anything in the house, and Kenma never really offered. It was the result of both Kenma’s inherently lazy nature, and how tightly the pair ran their house. 

Kenma had no clue how they kept it so clean and well stocked, and honestly, he was a little scared to find out.

But gardening was something that it seemed neither of them cared too strongly about, and would probably only take a few hours a week from Kenma. If he messed up, or got lazy about it, it wouldn’t be that big a deal. 

Except, for whatever reason, that fall the crops the house reaped were larger and fresher and more abundant than they had ever been before. 

“We’ve got plenty of everything to cook anything we want this winter,” Iwaizumi said with an impressed raise of his eyebrows. “You could probably actually sell a lot of this.”

“Who would’ve guessed Ken-chan would be our little good luck charm,” Oikawa added, pinching Kenma’s cheek before Kenma slapped his hand away. The taller man’s words were teasing, but Kenma caught a gleam in his eyes that made it clear it wasn’t all in jest.

It took everything in Kenma not to roll his eyes at him.

Kenma was stuck in the middle of nowhere for the foreseeable future, with no way home and only two people he could rely on.

Nothing about him was lucky.

-

Six months came and went, and before Kenma knew it, it was spring. 

It came with the frost melting from the trees. It came with the blossoming of flowers along the path to get to the heart of the city. It came with warmer weather that required wearing less layers outdoors. 

And it came with increased affection between Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Kenma thought he was used to how the couple operated. It was sometimes awkward to be around them, but it was nothing Kenma couldn’t handle.

But, oh, did springtime Oikawa try him time and time again.

So Kenma decided it was probably a good move to start looking for a place of his own.

“They grow up so fast,” Oikawa said with an exaggerated whimper as Kenma told them the news. 

“You’re barely any older than me,” Kenma replied flatly, even though he wasn’t sure if that was actually true. They didn’t  _ look _ any older than him, but sometimes the way the two men carried themselves felt timeless. 

“You did make a fair amount of money this past year,” Iwaizumi said consideringly, before raising his eyebrows skeptically at Kenma. “Still, there’s no rush to this. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need.”

“You also still don’t remember anything,” Oikawa needlessly added, his words a little too pointed for Kenma. 

And while Kenma knew he was welcome to stay with the men as long as he needed, he was also sick of walking in on them in various states of undress.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Kenma told them, and a few days later, with his share of the profits from the past season’s crops, he went into town to see what lodging he could find. 

The town was bustling with the budding energy of spring, and Kenma found it hard not to grimace at the number of people. He’d done the math beforehand, and with the amount of money he had saved, he should be able to find a humble home while still having plenty leftover to save for his journey back to Nekoma.

Now to just find a place as quickly as possibly.

Ducking his head as he swerved through the crowds, Kenma tried his best to remain as unseen as possible. Iwaizumi had given him a contact, so Kenma just had to make his way to them as quickly as possible.

So focused on his task, Kenma didn’t notice the tall body that moved to stand directly in front of him until he was already colliding with it.

“Oh, are you okay?” A concerned voice asked just as two warm hands came to steady Kenma around his arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to nearly knock you over.”

Then what  _ did  _ you mean to do, Kenma thought. He tilted his head up to shoot a glare at the stranger, only to falter when he met his gaze.

Seijoh was a large clan - perhaps even larger than Nekoma. On top of that, Kenma made it a point to go into the city as little as possible, because of the noise, crowds, and unfamiliarity of it all. He would never say he knew every person in the clan, and he would honestly be hard pressed to call out more than five people by name. 

That being said, there was something about this man that made Kenma feel like he didn’t quite… belong in Seijoh. 

Perhaps it was the gleam of his brown eyes, or his tall stature that towered over Kenma, or the nearly offensively unruly hair on his head that was somehow pulled into a low ponytail that rested over his shoulder, but Kenma just had a gut instinct that there was something almost dangerous about the man. 

And if he had truly been from Seijoh, Kenma would’ve definitely noticed him by then.

“Ah, I didn’t startle you too much did I?” The man grinned, and Kenma was sure it was meant to look apologetic but he could just tell it wasn’t completely genuine. “My name is Kuroo. Is there some way I could make it up to you?”

As tempting as the offer sounded, Kenma was still wary of the man. Kenma blinked up at the man, and as blanky as possible said. “No, thank you.”

Turning to continue with finding his contact, Kenma’s eyes widened as Kuroo stepped into stride with him.

“Can I at least help you with where you’re trying to go?” Kuroo asked, nodding down to the paper clenched in Kenma’s hand.

Kenma pursed his lips at Kuroo’s insistence, and huffed out an impatient breath. Maybe if he let the poor guy help with him with this one thing, he’d leave him alone.

“I need to find Yahaba Shigeru,” Kenma said, waving the paper in his hand but not handing it over to Kuroo. 

Kuroo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The guide? What business do you have with a man as aggressive as that?”

Kenma felt some of his hesitance ease at Kuroo’s words. If he knew about how Yahaba’s temper could get, then there was no way he wasn’t from the clan.

Anyone who knew about Yahaba’s more… feral side had to have known the man to get past his shallow exterior. Oikawa had warned Kenma about it before he set off that morning, and he’d seemed almost proud of the other man.

Still, Kenma couldn’t shake the feeling there was still something just a little off about Kuroo.

“He’s renting out an old servant’s house,” Kenma replied shortly. He waited for Kuroo to point him towards Yahaba’s direction, but instead the man just widened his eyes in shock at Kenma.

“Don’t tell me you intend to live there?” Kuroo exclaimed, and Kenma just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. Obviously, he intended to live there. Kuroo gaped at him, before stressing, “Why on earth would you live in an old servants’ quarters?”

Kenma narrowed his eyes at Kuroo, wondering if he was simply playing dumb. “For shelter.”

Kuroo’s jaw clicked closed, and he looked at Kenma like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. That would be fine with Kenma, plenty of people had given him that look before, except the way Kuroo was looking at him had just a touch of familiarity. It was like Kenma was a puzzle he already had the pieces to, a puzzle Kuroo had completed before time and time again, and he was just putting the pieces together again. 

It unnerved Kenma.

“If you don’t know where Yahaba is…” Kenma said, trailing off and shifting his eyes away from Kuroo’s unrelenting gaze.

“I do,” Kuroo started slowly, his gaze lingering on Kenma for just a moment more before he finally lifted it away. “But I think I have an offer that just might beat out his.”

Kenma paused. It wasn’t like he was married to the idea of renting from Yahaba. The more money he could save, the better. If Kuroo really had something at a better price, Kenma was willing to hear him out.

“How good is the offer?” Kenma asked, and Kuroo just grinned in response. 

“Let me show you the place first,” Kuroo said, and before Kenma could even think of objecting, Kuroo was walking away from him like he expected Kenma to follow.

Kenma hesitated as he stared after Kuroo’s back. It all just felt a little suspicious. The man bumped into him, introduced himself, and then proceeded to offer Kenma a place to live. 

No one acted like that. Even Oikawa had been suspicious of him initially, and Iwaizumi had only first intended on getting Kenma some food and rest -  _ not _ lodging.

Still, Kenma’s instincts weren’t really yelling at him to run. The man seemed dangerous, and strange, and perhaps a touch too eager, but he didn’t seem bad. He didn’t seem bad at all. 

Kenma had to refrain from clicking his tongue, but he ended up hurried along after Kuroo, the other man’s long legs carrying him quickly away from the crowd. Once he made it to Kuroo’s side though, Kuroo so seamlessly adjusted his stride for Kenma that Kenma didn’t even notice until they were quite aways from the heart of the city. 

“It’s up here,” Kuroo said, leading Kenma up a long set of stairs that had him scrunching his nose, but he could admit the location was nice. It was away from the bustle of the merchants, while not being too far away for Kenma to reach everything he could need. 

He watched as they passed by other houses as they continued making their way up the steps. Each house had plenty of distance from the other, and it was nice to know that Kenma could avoid his neighbors if he wanted to. Still, the climb was quite steep. Kenma it was just at the point that he was just beginning to feel out of breath that they reached the top of the stairs and Kuroo rested his large hand on Kenma’s shoulder.

“Here it is,” Kuroo said, and Kenma’s eyes widened as he took in the large house standing proudly before him.

The first thing that caught his eyes was the fact that the ascents of the house were red. The house was made of a dark wood, with slabs of stones here and there, but the flashes of color were of red and gold.

In Seijoh, it wasn’t impossible to see colors that weren’t teal and white, but it was rare.

Just the colors alone reminded Kenma of Nekoma. It wasn’t the exact shade of the clan’s flags, but this red was a little warmer, a little homier.

The second thing Kenma registered was the sheer size of the house.

“I…” Kenma started, at a loss for words as he struggled to take in the home. “This can’t be right.”

“And why can’t it?” Kuroo replied easily, crossing the front lawn and making his way into the house as if what he was offering was nothing short of insane.

“I can’t afford something like this,” Kenma said following Kuroo with a shake of his head. Despite knowing he was right, he couldn’t stop his eyes from catching on the many details of the house. “I don’t know what made you think--”

“Of course you can afford it,” Kuroo said, turning down a hall and leading Kenma to what he realized was a living area. He sat at a table, and patted the spot next to him easily. “I’m offering it to you for free, after all.”

Kenma stilled, not taking a seat and instead staring down at Kuroo in disbelief. 

“You’re lying,” Kenma accused softly, and Kuroo just chuckled at him.

“Why would I lie about that?” He grinned, but did shrug his shoulders guiltily. “There is a bit of a catch though.”

Kenma tried not to let the disappointment pull at his lips. He knew this was too good to be true. 

“The thing is, more than anything, I need someone to watch this place for me,” Kuroo explained with a sigh, reaching his hands back to lean his weight against them. “I spend half the year away from Seijoh for work and travel, and this place needs maintenance during that time.”

Kenma tilted his head up in understanding. That actually made a bit of sense. It would explain why Kenma had never seen the man before, at least. 

But that still meant…

“The other half of the year,” Kenma said bluntly, and Kuroo just grinned at Kenma like he was proud of him. 

“Yeah, I’m back here,” Kuroo said. “But I promise, I’m a considerate roommate.”

Kenma looked down at Kuroo, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he considered the pros and cons. 

It was a beautiful home, there was no denying it. It was more than Kenma ever thought to expect, and free was a price Kenma really wasn’t in a position to ignore. 

But roommates were the main reason he wanted to move out from Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s home. And if he had to choose someone to stay with, he’d prefer the people he was already familiar with. 

It  _ would  _ only be for half a year though…

But Kenma just couldn’t shake that it seemed too good to be true.

“You don’t even know my name,” Kenma said quietly, wondering if there was something about his face that made strangers offer him things better than what he deserved. “You’re offering me all of this without knowing a single thing about me.”

Kuroo dropped his gaze from Kenma, his head tilting so his hair covered much of his face. Unbidden, Kenma felt a tug at him to sit down beside Kuroo, just so he could get a glimpse of his face.

“Tell me your name then,” Kuroo said, and Kenma swore he heard a hint of rasp on his words. 

Kenma licked his lips, and carefully said, “My name is Kenma.”

Kuroo nodded slowly, and then finally lifted his head up to look at Kenma with a smile that Kenma didn’t quite buy.

“Well then, Kenma,” and Kenma’s eyes widened as Kuroo said his name like he was making a home of it. “How about this? You can try out living with me for the next six months. If you hate it, you can still stay here the six months I’m gone, and find a new place to stay during that time.”

Kenma heard the words, but his mind was still stuck on the way Kuroo said his name. He said with so much ease, with so much certainty, with so much care. 

Kenma couldn’t help wanting to hear him say it again.

“Okay,” Kenma agreed, because it was a fair deal.

Because he wanted to hear his name said like that again.

Because he wanted to know more about this strange, generous, enigmatic man named Kuroo. 

-

Kenma found that Kuroo talked a lot. 

Usually that was something in a person that bothered Kenma, but Kuroo never talked with the expectation of Kenma talking back. 

Kuroo would just say whatever thoughts crossed his mind, and Kenma would hum or nod in response, and Kuroo would smile at him, and it’d be nice.

It also showed Kenma that Kuroo was smart. Incredibly smart. As in quite possibly one of the most intelligent people Kenma had ever met. 

He seemed to know a little bit about every topic, from medicine to agriculture to poetry, but there was nothing he seemed to know more about than music.

Instruments, specifically.

“The way instruments work is a product of science,” Kuroo explained as he showed Kenma his beautiful crafted  _ pipa. _ The four-stringed lute was placed in his lap, and he held it delicately while gesturing to Kenma. “It’s science, and yet the way the music makes you feel is something beyond observational understanding. Instruments and music bridge the world of art and science in a way that is so universally loved, and it’s just beautiful.”

Kuroo did clearly have a soft spot for the pipa though. He played it from time to time, and Kenma always was always impressed with how effortlessly his fingers traveled along the dozens of frets. 

Not that he ever told Kuroo that.

Still, with how passionately Kuroo talked about instruments, and the pipa in particular, it was hard for Kenma not to grow interested in them too. He never felt as invested as Kuroo, and he doubted he ever would, but he did listen with a little more intent each time. He did miss playing the paixiao himself, and seeing Kuroo’s love for his instruments made him feel a little less silly about missing his own.

In turn, Kuroo seemed to take an interest in the things Kenma liked.

“What’s this?” Kuroo asked one day as he visited Kenma in his room. Kenma was brushing his nearly waist-long hair out, wondering if he should get it cut soon, when Kuroo spoke. The man’s voice sounded a little choked, and Kenma turned to look at him with a furrowed brow. 

In his hand, Kuroo was holding the xiangqi piece Kenma had found in his pocket all those months ago. Kenma’s frown only deepened. Had Kuroo never seen a xiangqi piece before? It was an incredibly common game, so that couldn’t be right.

Maybe he just didn’t understand why Kenma had just a single piece on display, and not the full set. 

“It’s a good luck charm,” Kenma replied slowly. Kuroo gaped at the piece at Kenma’s words, and Kenma looked between the piece and Kuroo in complete confusion.

Maybe he really didn’t know what the game was?

“Do you… not know what xiangqi is?” Kenma asked, trying to keep his voice free of judgement. This was the man letting Kenma stay in his home for free - it would be best if he didn’t offend him. 

“I - of course, I know what xiangqi is,” Kuroo snapped, waving the piece at Kenma as if that was supposed to prove something to him. 

“Okay,” Kenma relented, dragging his eyes away from Kuroo. “You were just looking at the piece like you’ve never seen one before.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Kenma immediately worried he’d said the wrong thing. Before his worry could evolve into panic, Kuroo spoke up with, “Do you want to play a couple rounds?”

Kenma’s head snapped to Kuroo immediately, his eyes practically lighting up. 

“That’s a yes,” Kuroo said with a small smirk, surprising Kenma a little. Apparently Kuroo read that too, and chuckled softly. “Come on, I have a set in the living area.”

The set Kuroo had was absolutely gorgeous. The pieces were jade, and the size of them fit perfectly in Kenma’s hands. They sat on opposite ends of the low table, and Kenma looked at the lines crossing the board with familiarity. 

It would be difficult for Kenma not to fall back on strategies he was confident would win him the game. He wasn’t playing against someone he’d played countless times before in his own clan. Kuroo was smart, and would have his own unique playing style. 

Kenma just had to watch. Watch, and be patient. 

This proved more difficult than Kenma initially thought. 

It wasn’t that Kuroo was a bad player. On the contrary, Kuroo was really good. He had plays that almost provoked Kenma into brash decisions that would surely cause him to lose pieces. They both still had their guard pieces, and both had at least one canon piece on their side, which was impressive for anyone playing against Kenma. 

The thing was, Kenma kept getting the feeling that he knew what Kuroo was going to do next. This was the first round they played together, and yet with every move, Kenma felt like he knew where Kuroo would move his piece next with more and more certainty. But Kenma refused to act on these instincts because there was no way he could know.

Except his instincts kept being right, and Kenma kept regretting not acting on them. 

What was worse was that Kuroo was doing an apt job at reading Kenma right back.

“You like to take your time with this game, huh,” Kuroo said, a smug grin on his face that grated on Kenma’s nerves. 

“There’s no rush,” Kenma replied blandly. “Winning now or in a few hours still counts as a win.”

Kuroo laughed then, loud and braying, and Kenma couldn’t help but wonder if the sound was an attempt at breaking his focus. 

“You’re so confident you’re going to win then?” Kuroo asked, moving his soldier piece up a square. 

Kenma hands flinched up toward his advisor piece, his eyes automatically drawn to the line Kuroo created directly towards his guard. 

But then he froze. Something about the play wasn’t quite right. It was familiar, and though Kenma couldn’t identify where he’d seen it, he knew it was a trap of some kind.

Tracing over the board with his eyes, Kenma kept his face carefully blanked as he realized just what Kuroo almost fooled him into doing. In sacrificing his guard, he would’ve moved Kenma’s advisor to the opposite side of the board - with only two pieces left to defend his general.

It was clever. It was infuriating. It made Kenma’s blood buzz in attention.

“You’re good at this,” Kenma replied, moving his chariot instead of his advisor, and taking the canon Kuroo left unguarded in his move to try and trap Kenma. 

Kuroo sighed at the move, looking resigned to his defeat but not at all upset about it. “Still, not good enough to beat you though.”

Kenma shrugged. “Not many people can. Doesn’t mean you’re not still skilled. Besides, you could maybe beat me one day.”

Kuroo looked up at Kenma, not seeming to care at all for the game in between them. 

“No, I don’t think I could.”

And yet Kuroo still continued to play against Kenma. It was fun, more fun than Kenma could remember the game being, and as much as Kuroo said he liked it, Kenma couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the man.

“Did you want to play something else?” Kenma asked after beating Kuroo for the third time one afternoon. He stretched his arms up as he waited for Kuroo’s response, and tried thinking of what other games the man could have.

Then, without a word, Kuroo quickly left the room. Kenma blinked at the spot where he had just been sitting once, and then Kuroo was dashing back to the room with a kite. 

Kenma pursed his lips. He’d meant a board game. 

Still, Kuroo looked particularly excited, and Kenma was the one who offered.

“Fine,” Kenma reluctantly agreed, heaving himself to his feet. 

“It’ll be fun, I swear,” Kuroo said, and with all the enthusiasm in his voice, Kenma almost believed him.

Until they found themselves in a field, with only a little wind and a bright yellow silk kite in Kuroo’s hand. 

“Do you want to run with the spool, or run with the kite?” Kuroo asked, waving both parts of the kite in his hand.

Kenma frowned at both options. “I’d rather not run at all.”

Kuroo laughed, but didn’t look put off at all. “Here,” he said, holding out the spool that had the soft string wrapped around it to Kenma. “You can run with the spool, and I’ll make sure to release the kite at the perfect time.”

“We could’ve just waited for a windier day to do this,” Kenma pointed out, but he took the spool from Kuroo nonetheless. 

Once Kuroo gave him the mark, Kenma started running towards the direction of the barely there wind. He definitely wasn’t running as quickly as he could have been, and he hardly expected the plan to work, but suddenly there was a loud  _ woosh _ behind him. Kenma turned in time to see the kite soar high into the air, the bright yellow of the kite bold against the clear blue sky. 

“Good job,” Kuroo said, jogging over to Kenma. Taking the spool from his hand, Kuroo released more of the thread so the kite went even higher, before sitting on the ground with a sigh.

Kenma blinked down at Kuroo as the man patted the ground beside him. “Come on, it’s better to watch from down here.”

Kenma settled beside Kuroo carefully, looking at the kite in the sky but keeping Kuroo just in his peripherals. They stayed like that for a while: Kuroo eventually reclined back on his elbows, Kenma drew his knees up to rest his arms against, the sun sunk a little lower in the sky, but they two were content in the silence. 

“It is pretty,” Kenma admitted after a while. The kite fluttered a bit in the sky, almost like it could hear the compliment. 

Kuroo hummed in agreement, and Kenma chanced a look back at him to see the man looking at him already. His eyes were filled with so much warmth, it made Kenma clench at the fabric of his robes a little tighter.

“What?” Kenma asked defensively, his shoulders rising up towards his ears.

“Nothing, nothing,” Kuroo said easily. “We’re probably going to have to set the kite again - it’s starting to drop.”

“Again?” Kenma felt betrayed. “We have to do all that over again?”

“Some things are worth doing over again,” Kuroo said as he shut his eyes and reclined fully on his back. “It’s a beautiful sight, after all.”

“You’re not even looking at the kite,” Kenma grumbled, but when the kite finally fell to the ground, and Kuroo looked at him expectantly, Kenma found himself running with the spool in his hand a few more times that day.

Maybe it was the man’s nature, or the fact that Kenma wanted to know more about him, but Kenma had a hard time telling Kuroo no. He didn’t really mind it though. He found that saying yes to Kuroo usually resulted in good times for both of them.

That being said, Kenma absolutely should not have said yes when Kuroo asked to meet Oikawa and Iwaizumi. 

“You’re all so tall,” Kenma complained as they all walked through town together. “Why are you all so tall? Everyone is staring at us because of it.”

“You get used to it,” Iwaizumi said with a shrug, and Kenma turned to glare at him.

“No, I’m including you with them too,” Kenma said, gesturing at Kuroo and Oikawa who were at a merchant’s stall, looking at the jewelry for sale. “Even if they’re taller than you, you’re still too tall.”

“Don’t worry about him, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said as he came over, bracelets decorating his wrists. “He’s just jealous.”

“You’re right, I’m incredibly jealous that I miss out on bumping my head on the doorway of every building I enter,” Kenma deadpanned. Oikawa stuck his tongue out at him as he slid a few bracelets onto Iwaizumi’s wrist.

“It’s the price we pay for being so good looking,” Kuroo solemnly said, coming over without any jewelry. “Did we want to get something to eat?”

“Did you want to treat all of us?” Oikawa said readily, and Kuroo raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“I didn’t realize times were so trying for you,” Kuroo replied before pressing his palm against his chest. “But since I am such a kind, considerate, generous--”

“Oh my god, enough,” Iwaizumi cut them both off with a groan. “We’ll just eat back at home. I don’t trust either of you to behave well enough to keep from getting us kicked out.”

Oikawa and Kuroo immediately protested. Kenma just barely narrowed his eyes. 

The familiarity with which Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Kuroo talked and interacted with each other was so weird. They all claimed to have never met, but their conversations with each other just flowed so easily. 

They were all friendly, outgoing people though, and Kenma had never been anything like that. Maybe this was just what happened when extroverts met extroverts. 

Still, that didn’t explain the way Kuroo was looking at Iwaizumi and Oikawa as they made the walk back to the couple’s home. The look was almost fond - or maybe grateful?

But there was also just the chance that Kenma was reading Kuroo wrong. It wouldn’t be surprising, he  _ had _ only met the man just a few short months ago. There was no way Kenma could read every single one of his expressions.

Still, the possibility that he couldn’t read Kuroo bothered Kenma for the rest of the dinner.

“Ken-chan, we have a parting gift for you,” Oikawa said right as Kenma and Kuroo were about to leave. 

Kenma was so surprised he didn’t even think to correct Oikawa on the nickname.

“You didn’t have to,” Kenma started, watching as Oikawa ducked around the corner.

“We know,” Iwaizumi said with a shrug and easy grin. “Don’t worry, we didn’t buy anything new.”

When Oikawa returned, Kenma’s eyes widened at what was in his hands.

“I can’t take that,” Kenma said immediately, eyes still trained on the beautiful sword. It wasn’t the sword Kenma had seen the first time in Oikawa’s study. It was another one, the one Kenma usually used for training, a little lighter and quicker. 

It was gorgeous and powerful. It had no place with Kenma.

“You can, and you will,” Oikawa said, holding the sword out to Kenma. When Kenma made no move to take it from him, Oikawa just sighed and passed it off to Kuroo - who barely managed to catch the weapon before it hit the ground.

“This doesn’t mean we don’t expect you to visit us,” Oikawa said, interrupting the protest Kenma was about to continue. “It’s just a way for you to remember our time together.”

“I’m bringing it back the next time I visit,” Kenma said, resigned to the fact that Oikawa wasn’t letting Kenma leave without the sword.

Oikawa smiled, knowing he had won. 

They all said their goodbyes, and then Kuroo and Kenma were walking back to the house.

“This is a rather magnificent sword,” Kuroo said, holding it up to his face as they walked. Kenma wondered how the man had such balance to be able to do that without slicing his nose off. “The detailing is a sign of good craftsmanship, and it’s made of high-quality materials.”

“How can you tell the quality of the materials?” Kenma asked, looking at the sword with a tilt to his head. Anyone with eyes could see it was a nice sword, but Kenma didn’t know of any of the finer mechanics. 

“Oh, lots of different ways,” Kuroo said with a beam. “First, this emblem here means that it was made in Dateko, and that clan is known far and wide for their…”

Kenma listened as Kuroo talked and talked and talked until he wasn’t even talking about sword anymore, and was instead talking about mineral compositions and where to find the most refined deposits.

Kenma listened as Kuroo went off on a tangent about needing to go to one of those locations sometime in the winter in order to see if there were any deposits even left.

Kenma listened until they reached the house, and didn’t realize he’d been actively listening until Kuroo said, “And then after that I need to go to… go to…”

“To Itachiyama,” Kenma supplied, already slipping off his shoes before entering the house. He turned to look up at Kuroo with a barely there smile. “You need to go to Itachiyama in order to see if any of the minerals could be used to further enhance paint colors.”

“Right,” Kuroo said breathlessly, looking so pleased as he looked down at Kenma you would think Kenma had just said he’d found the cure to Kuroo’s helpless bedhead. “You were actually listening to me?”

“I always listen to you,” Kenma said frankly, because it was the truth.

“Right,” Kuroo repeated, now looking even more winded. He paused as his eyes ran over Kenma’s face, before sighing as he raised a single hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Um, goodnight then, Kenma.”

“Goodnight,” Kenma said. Kuroo turned to head into his sleeping quarters, and without knowing why Kenma added, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kenma watched as Kuroo nearly tripped over the floorboards, and the shorter man brought his fist up to stifle a laugh. Kuroo turned around his eyes wide in the moonlight, and nodded his head at Kenma as he replied, “Tomorrow! Yes!”

Kenma shook his head, and started towards his own sleeping quarters. He looked outside as he walked, and his lips turned down as he realized how much cooler it was that night than usual.

Summer was coming to an end.

Summer was coming to an end, and that meant Kuroo would be leaving soon.

It bothered Kenma, because in the six months he came to know Kuroo, Kenma learned the man was full of all sorts of knowledge. He was both intelligent and wise, and Kenma knew it was hard to find a person who had both.

So Kenma was confident in saying he’d managed to learn Kuroo’s mind.

It was just everything else he still had to figure out.

-

The morning of Kuroo’s last day in the house, Kenma sat on a pillow on the ground as he watched Kuroo prepare to leave.

“Did you come to a decision?” Kuroo asked as he organized his documents into cleanly packed piles. He said the words smugly, like he already knew the answer to his question.

It was frustrating that Kuroo was right, too. 

“You know I did,” Kenma said, refusing to give Kuroo the pleasure of hearing his confirmation. At this point, Kenma had wholeheartedly agreed to the lodging. It was clear in the way he packed nothing up himself, how he never searched for other places of stay, how he never mentioned moving out even once.

“Then take care of the place for me while I’m away,” Kuroo replied easily, his grin widening on his face. “I won’t be able to stop by at all, so I’ll be relying on you.”

Kenma shot him a flat look. “I’m sure I can manage a single home.” 

Except one week later, after Kuroo left and Kenma was left alone, strange things started happening.

The first thing was minor, but it’s still a little weird. Almost as soon as Kuroo left, a cat had walked into the house as if it owned the place. Kuroo never mentioned any cats before, and this cat seemed to be avoiding Kenma at all costs. 

And honestly that was fine with Kenma. Most strays didn’t like Kenma, and he would not put it past this one to scratch him, so he just kind of let the cat be. If it was still here when Kuroo got back, then Kuroo could deal with it.

The second, and much more important issue, was the fact that ghouls started coming for the house. 

The first time it occured, Kenma could hardly believe what was happening to him.

He sat on the grass of the courtyard in front of the house, reading a book Kuroo had left behind half-heartedly. It was a nice enough autumn day that Kenma didn’t mind being outside - it actually helped distract him from how empty the house felt. 

Then, out of nowhere, Kenma sensed a change in the atmosphere. He tensed up, and instinctively turned his head towards the source of the shift.

Kenma was entirely unprepared for the ghoul dragging its feet toward him. 

Kenma felt panic climb up his throat as he scrambled to get to his feet, his hands shaking as he grasped the sleeves of his robes. The ghoul was slow moving, but definitely moving towards Kenma. It was grotesque, its long nails, dead eyes, blue skin, and drained near-human appearance caused chills to rise up Kenma’s spine. He’d never seen a ghoul in person before, only heard stories about them, and he couldn’t help the terror wracking through him at the sight of this one. 

Despite the fear clouding his mind, Kenma tried cataloging all his options as quickly as he could. 

He could call for help, but the house was isolated enough that Kenma doubted anyone would be able to hear his cries. He could run, which truly was his best option, except his feet wouldn’t move no matter how much he desperately wanted them to.

He could fight. Kenma could try fighting, try using what Oikawa and Iwaizumi taught him, except Kenma didn’t have a weapon.

Well, technically, not one on him at the moment.

A sharp, burning pain sliced into Kenma’s left arm, harshly dragging him from his thoughts. 

Kenma gasped, tripping over his feet in his effort to scramble away from the ghoul, who was only moving faster with every jagged attack it made at him. 

Apparently bodily threat was all the motivation Kenma needed to get his feet moving as he dashed away from the ghoul. He needed a plan. He could either run into the town, the ghoul chasing after him and causing all sorts of destruction, or he could go to the main room of the house where he knew the sword was stored and fight. He would need to do that quickly, if he didn’t want the ghoul messing up the house in some way.

There was an easy option, and there was a hard option.

Kenma groaned as he changed directions towards the main room. As fast the ghoul was getting, it was still an undead creature, and could only move along so quickly. That gave Kenma barely enough time to practically dive into the main room, grab the sword standing propped up against a vase, and dash back towards the ghoul just as it managed to scratch jagged lines against one of the house’s wooden pillars.

Kenma felt anger rise at him at the sight, and he barely put any thought into his cultivation technique before he was swinging the sword right into the ghoul.

The beast didn’t stand a chance. It writhed in place for a moment, before being exorcised in a burst of smoke. 

Kenma stared at the place where it was once standing with wide eyes. That hadn’t been a strong ghoul at all - anything that could be so easily overcome with a single strike couldn’t be that strong.

Still, Kenma had barely managed to defeat it in time. He looked down at his arm, his now ruined robes stained with blood from the ghoul’s scratches. They were only three slashes, and still Kenma felt his entire arm ache in pain.

He tried to push the event from his mind, and probably would’ve been successful - except it happened again.

And again.

And again.

They were never very strong, and it was only ever one ghoul at a time. But it was always terrifying, it was always strange, and Kenma always just barely managed to kill them off.

After the fifth one came - just a little over a month after Kuroo left - Kenma decided he needed to figure out what was happening. As far as he saw it, there were two possibilities: either the ghouls were coming for him, or the house. 

Kenma would be surprised if they were coming for him though. Kenma didn’t really do much, and he doubted he had done anything in the past that would warrant weekly ghoul attacks.

So that left the house. 

It was strange though, because there hadn’t been a single ghoul in the six months Kuroo was there. But maybe it was a seasonal thing. Maybe that was the reason Kuroo left this time of the year. 

But that didn’t sit right with Kenma either. Kuroo didn’t feel like the type to leave Kenma to fend for himself without so much as a warning. 

On the other hand, Kenma really didn’t know Kuroo all that well. Six months wasn’t enough time to really know someone. 

So Kenma decided to do some reading.

He could admit he didn't really know about the history of the Seijoh clan. For all he knew, the house was a well-known cursed abode, and no one thought to tell Kenma because he wasn’t really one of them to begin with. 

Which, while hurt to think about, would be the least surprising thing to happen to him.

But if everyone, Iwaizumi and Oikawa included, were hiding this from him, Kenma was going to look on his own. 

So the day after the sixth ghoul visit, Kenma went into town to find a bookstore. He had the sword he’d borrowed from Oikawa all that while ago at his hip, and hoped no one would give him a second glance for the weapon. 

Kenma wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for - history of Seijoh, maybe even something that mentioned Kuroo. 

As he walked into what looked like a bookstore, what he wasn’t expecting to hear was talk of a recent martial god. 

“He’s incredible,” One woman said to another earnestly. “I began worshipping him for less than a month, and already my son has begun to excel in his lessons.”

“You know the old group of demons that have been wreaking havoc on the west side of the mountain for decades?” A man said gruffly, his arms crossed over his chest. “After sending up prayers throughout the summer, he defeated them all at the start of autumn.”

“I also heard he’s hot,” the bookkeeper said with a smirk. Kenma turned to look at him, and saw a second man leaning against his counter.

“What, hotter than me, Issei?” The man leaning against the counter asked with a grin.

“Way hotter than you.” The bookkeeper’s smirk widened, before he added, “Employed, too.”

“Excuse me,” Kenma interrupted. Both men turned to look at Kenma in sync, and Kenma tried not to look too intimidated at the action, and he trained his eyes on the man behind the counter. “You’re in charge of this store, right?”

“Yes, Matsukawa Issei at your service,” the man said with a small bow. “Did you need help looking for anything?”

Kenma looked to the side in consideration. He initially intended on asking for readings on the town curses, or even seeing if he could find something on the house, but all the talk of gods piqued Kenma’s curiosity.

“Do you have anything on the god everyone seems to be talking about?” Kenma asked, turning his head slightly to the side to avoid the gazes of both men. 

“Oh, are you trying to get a blessing from the Martial God Tetsurou-sama as well?” The man with pink hair spoke up then, tilting his head at Kenma. 

Kenma opened his mouth a few times, wondering what he wanted to say would be considered rude, before slowly asking, “Are you the assistant shopkeeper?”

Mattsukawa bursted into laughter, and the other man’s jaw dropped. 

“I’m Hanamaki Takahiro,” he corrected. “And I’m not his  _ assistant _ , I’m more like--”

“Unemployed,” Matsukawa interrupted, still chuckling. “He’s unemployed.” He looked back at Kenma, his smile much more amused than it was before. “I like you. What’s your name?”

“Kenma,” he replied. If either of them were bothered that Kenma didn’t give his full name, they didn’t show it. Kenma felt his shoulders relax. “Did either of you know much about the god Tetsurou-sama.”

Kenma blinked. The way the name felt coming out of his mouth felt so familiar he almost forgot to add -sama at the end. Gods, he hoped he wouldn’t forget himself again. 

“No one knows much of anything beyond rumors,” Matsukawa admitted with a shrug. “He’s such a new god that it’s hard to figure out what’s real and what’s exaggeration.”

“He already has a large temple so some of the talk has to have merit,” Hanamaki continued, the ease of which he continued Matsukawa’s thought making it clear to Kenma that the behavior was a regular occurrence for the two. “We could give directions there, if you’d like?”

A temple. That would give him lots of answers about Tetsurou, but lead him even further to figuring more about the house and Kuroo. But maybe the monks there could give him some guidance about the ghouls in general.

Besides, Kenma couldn’t quite shake the pull this god seemed to have on him.

So he agreed, and soon Matsukawa and Hanamaki were writing directions that would take Kenma quite far from the town’s center.

“Feel free to come back whenever you’d like,” Matsukawa said as Kenma said his goodbyes. “You seem like fun.”

Kenma nodded, but wasn’t sure if he would make the trip often. The pair seemed like a handful.

Looking down at the directions, Kenma frowned as he saw just how far he’d have to travel. It wasn’t late yet, but the sun could start setting by the time he reached the temple.

Still, Kenma knew if he put this off now, he’d never get around to it later. So he set off, hoping he could be quick enough to at least be home before it got too dark. 

As he started down the forest locked path towards the temple, Kenma wondered about the god Tetsurou. Kenma didn’t know many gods himself in general. He knew of the great god Nekomata, but only because he was the patron god of the Nekoma clan. He knew about the gods Bokuto and Akaashi, but that was only because everyone knew about those two gods and their epic story that defied worlds and stars. But the talk about Tetsurou seemed different to what Kenma was used to. 

He clearly wasn’t the patron god of Seijoh, considering how little everyone seemed to know about him, and yet he was impressive enough that people still worshipped him. Yes, he seemed powerful, but that was usually never enough to warrant so much talk. 

A story was a reason for people to talk.

Everyone loved a good epic when it came to the gods. Stories like a god who was once a prince and ascended to godhood at a young age, or the tale of lovers reunited even past death. Those were the stories that got passed around, and the ways gods transcended the borders of clans. But stories were hard to piece together fully, and with a god as young as Tetsurou, everything would be more speculation than anything else.

Still, Kenma couldn’t help but wonder what could Testurou’s story be?

Lost in his thoughts, Kenma almost didn’t notice the ghoul creeping up on him until it was too late.

He heard a single branch break, and then Kenma leapt away just in time for the ghoul to descend down on the area where he was just standing. The ground cracked beneath the hideous monster, and Kenma swallowed.

This one was stronger than the ones he’d faced before. 

Unsheathing his sword, Kenma got the weapon up just in time to block an attack aimed at his face. The ghoul growled, its fangs protruding from its mouth as it tried to get closer to Kenma, but he held firm and pushed back against its body with his sword. 

It was still difficult for Kenma to use cultivation techniques when his mind was racing in fear. He could feel his golden core, knew the ability was there, but it was hard for him to reach for it. 

Still, he had to get the ghoul away from him, and had to put distance between them so he could catch his breath and clear his head. Stepping one foot forward, he braced his weight forward and pushed back against the ghoul with all of his might. 

Kenma’s eyes widened as he sent the ghoul practically flying into a tree. The ghouls were getting stronger, but so it seemed was he.

Emboldened, Kenma focused his energy on the sword the way Oikawa taught him. He let the fear of the moment wash away, and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. When he opened them again, he narrowed in on the ghoul. 

The monster was recovering from the impact, but once back on its feet, it ran straight at Kenma with its full force. Kenma grip tightened on his sword, and with a single swing, he cut through the middle of the ghoul.

The ghoul froze, its mouth gaping, before it disappeared in a haze of smoke.

Kenma looked at where the ghoul was once standing in awe.

That was the first time Kenma had managed to beat a ghoul back without a single injury.

It was also the first time Kenma had been attacked outside of the house - or really the first time Kenma left the house in general - which answered Kenma’s larger question about the ghouls.

They weren’t after the house or Kuroo. They were after Kenma.

Kenma scrunched his nose. But Kenma didn’t _do_ anything. He didn’t mean that he hadn’t done harm to anyone else - thought that was true as well. He meant he literally did nothing.

Even before the accident that left him stranded in Seijoh, Kenma spent his days mostly alone reading, playing the paixiao, or playing xiangqi when he had the social energy for it. Now, he spent it alone in Kuroo’s house, trying to convince himself to visit Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and never working up the energy to make the journey.

Sure he was a little rude, and sometimes lazy, and occasionally he pretended like he couldn’t hear his neighbor’s calling out to him.

But as far as he was aware, none of that warranted constant ghoul attacks.

If he owed some great or small power an apology, he had no idea where to begin. 

But he was headed towards a temple. Maybe he could find answers there. 

Once Kenma finally reached the temple, he was surprised with how humble it looked. It was still definitely a temple, the tiled roof and tall pillars clear indicators of that. But it was only two floors high, and didn’t have many colors. 

“Despite his power, Tetsurou-sama is still a new god.” 

Kenma flinched at the voice from right behind him, and whirled around to see a man shorter than him standing right behind him.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” the man said hurriedly, dropping in a low bow. “I’m one of the monks here - Shibayama Yuuki - and I just noticed you staring.”

“It’s okay,” Kenma said hesitantly. The young man was small, but clearly perceptive. 

They both stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, and Kenma wished desperately to know what to say next. 

“Did you...wish to light some incense?” Shibayama asked, shifting on his feet, and Kenma latched onto the opportunity immediately.

“Yes, please,” he responded, and then he was following Shibayama into the temple. He let his eyes wander, and tried thinking of the best way to word his thoughts. “As a monk here, would you happen to know much about ghouls?”

Shibayama looked back at Kenma, but he didn’t have any judgement in his eyes, only curiosity. “Ghouls are usually the concerns of cultivators, but we don’t usually see many of them in the area. If there were some, I’d be worried less about the ghouls, and more about what was causing them.”

Kenma’s shoulders tensed. He was technically what was causing them.

“Here you are,” Shibayama said, and Kenma looked up to see a large painting of a man hanging on the wall. “You can light your incense on the holder here,” Shibayama continued, gesturing to the ledge placed below the painting, “And then send up whatever prayer you’d like.”

Shibayama bowed to Kenma again, and then left back towards the entrance of the temple. Kenma followed him with his gaze, before looking back up at the large painting of who he assumed to be Tetsurou.

The man in the painting looked a bit plain, but Kenma assumed that came from the fact there was little known about the god. 

He had dark hair that matched his eyes, but that didn’t sit right with Kenma. His hair was pulled cleanly away from his face, but that also didn’t sit right with Kenma. On his face, was an angry and almost scary expression as he wielded his sword with power, but that too didn’t sit right with Kenma.

He eyes the painting with distaste clear on his face. Who on earth painted this portrait, and how they could get so many things wrong?

Kenma blinked twice, coming back to himself. Who was he to doubt someone else's depiction of the god? Kenma had certainly never seen him before. 

Clearing his head, Kenma grabbed a single incense, only to pause right before lighting it. 

Kenma had no idea what to say to Tetsurou.

He came all the way out here on some whim, and now he didn’t even have a clue what he wanted. This is why he didn’t trouble himself with gods - he never knew how to speak to them, how to request anything of him.

But Kenma was already here…

_ Hello, Tetsurou-sama _ , Kenma thought, the words already feeling awkward in his head. _ Um, please grant me protection in the coming months, and guidance on what I should do next. Thank you. _

Kenma felt his cheeks flush at his rough and vague prayer, but he lit the incense anyway and bowed deeply before the painting. 

When he left the room, he found Shibayama outside, sweeping the steps of the temple.

“Can I ask you a question?” Kenma asked as he made his way over to the monk. 

Shibayama brightened, and nodded enthusiastically. “What can I help you with?”

Kenma mulled over his words. He didn’t want a long drawn out conversation with the monk, but he did want something to at least settle his curiosity about the god.

“Why did you decide to dedicate yourself to a god as new as Tetsurou-sama?” Kenma settled on, hoping the question didn’t come across as rude or invasive.

Shibayama looked surprised by the question, and leaned his weight against his broomstick as he thought. Finally, he smiled and said, “There are lots of gods who are powerful and smart and reliable. But Tetsurou-sama seems, above all else, to be a good and fair god - a god you can follow with confidence.” 

Kenma took in the words, before thanking Shibayama for his time, and starting his way back home.

And it was the funniest thing because throughout the entire trek through the forest path, the path into the city, and the steps he walked up to get back to Kuroo’s house, Kenma couldn’t shake the indescribably happy feeling he got at hearing Shibayama’s words. 

Tetsurou was known to be a good god, and that settled something in Kenma that no painting - accurate or not - could shake.

Now if only it could settle his issues with the ghouls. 

They just always kept coming, no matter how much Kenma killed them off. It wasn’t every day, and it was never back to back, but it was still annoying and exhausting.

So Kenma finally worked up the energy to go visit Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Ah, so you do remember us,” Oikawa called out as Kenma walked up the path leading up to their house. He was sitting on the steps, almost as if he was waiting for Kenma.

“I remember Iwaizumi,” Kenma said, walking straight past Oikawa. 

He ignored Oikawa’s indigent squawking behind him, and made his way into their home.

“Oh, Kenma,” Iwaizumi said in surprise as Kenma walked into the kitchen where he was cooking. He stepped away from the fire stove, patting his hands against his front. “Welcome, welcome, sorry I didn’t expect you.”

“It’s okay,” Kenma said, waving Iwaizumi off. “I didn’t give you any warning.”

“Still, you should join us for lunch.” Iwaizumi pulled a third plate out for Kenma, making it clear his request wasn’t a question.

Not that Kenma was particularly upset. Cooking wasn’t Kenma’s favorite activity by far, and Iwaizumi’s cooking easily outshone his. 

Oikawa made his way back inside after moping for an appropriate amount of time, Kenma helped set the table, and soon they were saying their blessings and digging into the food.

“We have a basket of apples we got from a travelling merchant,” Oikawa said, as he scooped some rice onto his plate. Kenma perked up, and immediately scanned the room to see if he could see them.

Apples were unfortunately  _ not _ common in Seijoh. It was an honest shame. 

“I’ll give you some after we eat.” Oikawa paused, before a calculating smile spread across his face. “If you tell us why you decided to visit us now.”

“I want more cultivation lessons,” Kenma said immediately, and Iwaizumi laughed so hard he choked on his drink.

“I-,” Oikawa started, completely taken off guard. He gaped at Kenma, before pouting dramatically. “If I knew you were going to agree so easily, I would’ve held something better against you.”

“It’s not like I was planning on hiding it.” Kenma shrugged, before frowning as Iwaizumi passed him a bowl of steam vegetables.

“But you didn’t tell me why when you walked up,” Oikawa complained, waving his chopstick at Kenma petulantly.

“You were being annoying.”

“Why do you want more cultivation lessons now?” Iwaizumi asked, his brow furrowing inquisitively. “You haven’t asked us for lessons since you moved out.”

Kenma chewed his food for a long time, keeping his face carefully blank before saying, “I was distracted, before.”

“Distracted with Kuroo-chan, huh,” Oikawa teased, and Kenma shot a glare at the man. Oikawa just smiled wider. “Ooh, someone’s defensive.”

“I was trying to figure out if Kuroo was someone I could trust.” Kenma took another bite of food before continuing, “Obviously, that would take some of my attention.”

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Oikawa chastised with a frown, just before sighing dramatically. “But I suppose we can heed your request.”

Kenma shared a flat look with Iwaizumi, but felt fondness flicker in his chest. He really had no idea where he would be without the two.

So Kenma started his lessons again, and when he went back to the house, he used what he was taught to defeat the ghouls. It was taxing work, but he always managed to defeat them in the end. 

As the winter started reaching its end, and spring slowly approached, Kenma realized something. He was going to have to decide whether or not to tell Kuroo about the ghouls.

It was unlikely they would show up when Kuroo was there - they hadn’t shown up last time. But if they were tied to himself like Kenma suspected, he was technically putting the house at risk. 

If he told Kuroo, he ran the risk of getting kicked out. And maybe it was a little selfish, but Kenma really didn’t want to lose this living situation. Plus, he had managed to keep the house from getting many damages so that had to count for something.

Admittedly, Kenma didn’t really think Kuroo would kick him out. The man seemed too soft. But Kenma also didn’t want to cause Kuroo undue stress while he was traveling. Kenma remembered how anxious Kuroo looked when he got lost in thought, and the last thing Kenma wanted to do was add to that anxiety. 

Kuroo had plenty to worry about in his busy life. Kenma didn’t want to be another reason.

-

After exactly six months of being gone, Kuroo finally returned home. 

Finally, because Kenma thought Kuroo had been maybe exaggerating a little about not being back at all during the six months he was away. It was the man’s house for goodness sake, was he really going to leave it alone in the hands of a man he knew for only six months without coming back to check on the place?

At least once. It would’ve made sense for Kuroo to come by at least once.

But he didn’t. Kuroo didn’t come once and now Kenma was a weird flurry of emotions because he was self-aware enough to recognize that he missed Kuroo. And that was weird because Kenma hardly even knew Kuroo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Kenma knew lots of things about Kuroo, lots of things about the things Kuroo knew. But to miss him felt too intimate for the relationship they had. 

So he wasn’t going to tell him, Kenma resolved the morning Kuroo was due to come back. He would treat Kuroo normally, and pretend like Kuroos’ absence was nothing Kenma thought about on a weekly basis. 

Except, Kuroo threw that all out the window when he stepped into the home, made his way to the living area where Kenma was reading, plopped down next to Kenma, and reclined back on his hands with a loud sigh.

“Welcome back,” Kenma said quietly, not even looking up from his book. 

“God, I’m so glad to be back.” Kuroo loosened the ponytail on his head just a bit, before glancing at Kenma with a soft grin. “I missed you, by the way.”

It was ridiculous that Kuroo could say a statement like that so shamelessly. It was even more shameful how pleased Kenma got at the words.

“You’re so strange,” Kenma replied, because it wasn’t like he was going to tell Kuroo he missed him too. 

“You like that I’m strange.” Kuroo waved his hand dismissively at Kenma, smiling at the man. “Just like how you like that I missed you.”

Kenma blinked, mouth moving before his mouth as he wandered out loud, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Kuroo asked with a furrowed brow.

“Read me so easily,” Kenma explained, sitting up and leaning just a little towards Kuroo. 

This was true even before. Last summer, Kuroo had read him with an ease that not even Kenma’s mother had - and he had only known Kenma for a few short months. Kenma swore his face was still mostly blank, still mostly covered by his hair, and yet Kuroo had picked up on how he was feeling with as little as a glance.

And then he left for six months, which was good and fine, except that should mean that Kuroo’s memory was a little hazy of Kenma. Obviously he wouldn’t forget him, but the subtleties should’ve faded away. 

And yet, there he was, reading Kenma just as easily as before. 

Kuroo just shrugged in response, shifting his eyes away from Kenma and out the window. “Maybe you’re just easy to read.”

Every single person in Kenma’s life had told him the exact opposite. 

But before Kenma could press Kuroo further, a soft meow interrupted them.

“Aw,” Kuroo cooed as the cat who avoided Kenma so much he forgot it was there walked directly to Kuroo and nudged it’s head against his thigh. “Who’s this?”

“What,” Kenma said flatly, looking at the cat with a twinge of annoyance. 

“‘What’ sure is a weird name,” Kuroo said as he gently grabbed the cat and brought it closer to his face. “Did Kenma give you a bad name? Is that why you came to me? So I could give you a better name?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Kenma said with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t mention it was because the cat refused to even look at Kenma because it felt like admitting defeat.

Still, it didn’t feel like defeat watching Kuroo coo and fawn over the cat. In the days after returning, he fed the cat regularly, used an old string to play with it, and took to casually carrying the animal around in his arms while doing random things around the house.

It was important to note that Kenma wasn’t jealous of the cat. He just thought that Kuroo really didn’t need to spend so much time doting on it, was all.

“Oh, I completely forgot,” Kuroo said about a month after being back. He and Kenma were eating lunch, the cat nowhere to be seen. Kenma was pretty sure it was because the thing still hated him.

Good.

“I brought you back a gift,” Kuroo continued, tapping his chopstick against his bowl in excitement. “Well, sort of. I had to get some things sent because I could carry it all, but I was able to bring back some small things.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Kenma said in surprise. 

“It’s okay, I just thought of you when I saw them,” Kuroo said easily, before scooping a bite of rice into his mouth.

Kenma followed after him, hoping the food would distract them both from the heat rising in his cheeks.

After lunch, Kuroo brought Kenma to his bedroom, and pulled out the large bag he’d taken with him on his travels. 

“I know I talked about them all the time,” Kuroo started as he dug around the bag, his tongue just barely peeking from the side of his mouth. “So I figured you might be interested in learning to play one…”

Kuroo trailed off as he started pulling instruments from the bag. Kenma’s lips parted as Kuroo started laying them all out, and his eyes lit up as he saw the paixiao.

“I…” Kenma started, before closing his mouths to more carefully consider his words. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I was going to bring them back anyway,” Kuroo said as he pulled the last instrument out. “So, any of them catch your eye?”

Kenma shifted his weight from foot to foot as his eyes kept trailing back to the paixiao in the middle. It really was a beautiful set, the pan pipes made with steady hands that left to bumps or cracks. 

But playing the paixiao was something Kenma never really did for anyone else. He loathed attention, and his parents had rarely ever gotten a song out of him. No one else had certainly never heard him play.

But as he moved closer to the instrument, lowering onto his knees right before it, Kenma could help the way his fingers itched for the instrument. 

“I know how to play the paixiao, a bit,” Kenma said hesitantly, chancing a glance at Kuroo.

The other man was looking at him with a patient smile. “Yeah?” He encouraged.

Kenma nodded, twisting his fingers in his lap to stop them from reaching for the instrument. “I don’t really play in front of anyone though.”

“If you feel comfortable, I would be honored to hear you play,” Kuroo said gently, nudging the paixiao forward just a bit. “If not, you’re still welcome to have it. Play it on your own time, whenever you’d like.”

Kenma looked from Kuroo, to the instrument, and then back at Kuroo again.

He was still a little nervous about playing the instrument. He knew it had been some time since he’d last played, and he was sure to be rusty. Still, Kuroo’s gaze on him didn’t hold a shred of judgement, or teasing, or apprehension. 

He just looked content, like he’d be happy with whatever decision Kenma made.

Kenma took a shaky breath, and then finally reached for the paixiao.

“It’s been awhile,” Kenma warned, but Kuroo’s grin just widened. 

Licking his lips, Kenma brought the pipes up to his lips and began to play. As he predicted, the first couple of notes were shaky, and the ones after that came out too strong. But as he continued to play, he found his eyes slowly shutting as his fingers danced along the pipes.

He played an old song from his childhood, one he knew like the back of his hand. The song brought Kenma back to Nekoma, back to the mild weather, back to feelings of youth and joy and laughter and ease and-

Kenma’s eyes opened as the song came to an end, his head feeling a little hazy. It was a wonder that a song he would play just for himself evoked so many feelings in him. 

He must’ve missed home a lot more than he thought.

“Beautiful,” Kuroo said softly, snatching Kenma’s attention. It took him a moment to register what he said, but once he did, there was no quelling the heat rising in Kenma’s cheeks.

“It wasn’t,” Kenma said immediately, shaking his head at Kuroo. “I messed up in the beginning, and got the melody wrong in the middle, and--”

“You’re clearly very talented,” Kuroo interrupted. His smile was lopsided as he nodded down to the instrument still in Kenma’s hands. “The paixiao is one of my favorite instruments. I would know.”

Kenma furrowed his brow at the new information. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned that before?”

“Ah, well I can’t play it for the life of me,” Kuroo said, bringing his hand scratch at his cheek. “But in the right hands, it’s the most wonderful instrument of them all.”

Kenma’s hands clenched around the paixiao, completely speechless as he stared at Kuroo. 

He would play for Kuroo as many times as he wanted. It was the least he could do for the purely  _ good _ feeling Kenma got in his chest at the words. 

“I could try helping you,” Kenma offered quietly. Kuroo raised his eyebrows slightly in interest, and Kenma added, “And maybe you could teach me to play the pipa. If you wanted to.”

And then Kuroo’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“You’d want to learn?” Kuroo asked, eagerness and surprise in equal measure in his tone. 

“If you’d like to teach me.” 

Kuroo was already getting up to grab his pipa before Kenma even finished his statement.

Learning the instrument was much more difficult than Kenma thought it was going to be. The long lute’s 37 frets were a lot to manage, and his finger’s weren’t nearly as long as Kuroo’s. That meant a lot of the advice Kuroo had to offer didn’t exactly pan out well for Kenma. 

“Usually I just keep my hand a little lower, since most of the notes rest a little lower too,” Kuroo contemplated with a frown. “But you might need to adjust that…”

“This is giving me a headache,” Kenma complained, tugging at the end of his ponytail. He was sitting on a chair across from Kuroo, trying to play this one little melody all afternoon, and was still struggling because of the lengthy chord progression.

“You can let your hair down, if you think it’ll help,” Kuroo offered, eyes flickering to the ribbon that held the bulk of Kenma’s hair in its high ponytail. “Comfort is more important than propriety for me.”

“I haven’t brushed it out in ages,” Kenma confessed, not feeling embarrassed at the fact. His hair was long and heavy, so brushing out all the tangles it got just took too much time and effort. “If I let it all out, it’s just going to snag on something.”

Kuroo nodded slowly in response, and then adjusted Kenma’s hand placement on the pipa. It helped somewhat, and Kenma found he was actually able to get the first part of the song down - albeit somewhat choppily. 

“I could brush your hair out for you, if you want,” Kuroo spoke up after some time, and it was only then that Kenma realized he had tugged at his ponytail again. 

Bringing his hand back down to rest against the pipa, Kenma raised his eyebrows at the offer. “I wasn’t exaggerating before, it really is a tangled mess.”

“I know the state of my hair may not be the best indicator,” Kuroo joked, running his hand through the fringe that fell over his forehead, “But I promise I’ll be able to brush your hair back to smoothness.”

Kenma shrugged in agreement, and Kuroo grinned as he left to find a brush. When he returned, Kenma’s hair was down, the strands running down his back and shoulders.

“It really had gotten long,” Kuroo mumbled to himself as he moved to stand behind Kenma, and Kenma glanced down at his hair in curiosity.

He supposed his hair had gotten a little longer in the six months Kuroo was gone. 

Kuroo’s fingers gently gathered Kenma’s hair over the back of the chair, and Kenma found his eyes fluttering at the sensation.

“You can put the pipa down,” Kuroo offered, his voice just a touch lower than it was before as he ran his fingers idly through Kenma’s hair. “If you move too much, I’m going to end up pulling your hair anyway.”

Kenma listened, gently resting the instrument on the floor, and then leaned back in his seat as Kuroo started brushing through his hair.

Kenma had always been lazy about brushing his hair, but there was little he enjoyed more than the feeling of someone doing it for him. His mother would do it from time to time, but she stopped once he got older. Something about not wanting to spoil Kenma.

Still, Kenma must’ve had someone else who brushed his hair out for him that he was just overlooking. Though whoever it was probably didn’t hold a handle to the gentle way Kuroo was running the brush through his hair.

“You’re so gentle with this,” Kenma murmured, his eyes finally falling closed. “Usually I just sort of yank the brush through enough for me to be able to tie my hair back.”

Kuroo chucked softy, his hands pulling at some of the hair that framed Kenma’s face, and smoothing it back behind his ear. “Well, it’s not like I’m in a rush. Besides, your hair is nice. I wouldn’t want to ruin it by being too rash.”

Kenma hummed in response, Kuroo’s gentle movements lulling him into a light nap, and Kuroo’s compliment causing his chest to warm ever so slightly. 

“Kenma,” a voice quietly called out, pulling Kenma from his sleep. 

Kenma blinked his eyes open slowly, and found Kuroo crouching in front of him with a fond smile.

“If you’re still tired, at least move to your bed,” Kuroo said, reaching out a hand to help Kenma out of his set. “If you sleep on that chair for any longer, you’ll get back troubles.”

Kenma took Kuroo’s hand and rose from the chair, bringing his other hand to cover his mouth as he yawned. His hair brushed against his back with the movement, and it was then that Kenma realized Kuroo had tied it all back in a ponytail for him.

“Did you want me to brush your hair out for you, too?” Kenma asked as he brought his hair over his shoulder and ran his fingers through his locks. It was completely smooth.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Kuroo said, looking completely surprised at the offer. 

Kenma studied Kuroo for a moment. 

“No, I’m going to brush your hair,” Kenma decided for him, and before Kuroo could protest, Kenma was tugging him towards the chair with the hand he then realized was still intertwined with Kuroo’s.

The thing was, Kenma thought as he pulled Kuroo’s hair from its ponytail, that Kuroo had a tendency to do things for people and never expect anything back. It was a trend that didn’t just apply to Kenma, but to everyone around him.

And really, Kuroo did a lot of good in general. 

Perhaps it was because Kenma was so wary of the man during their first six months of living together, but now all Kenma could see was everything he did for others.

He saw when Kuroo offered to help an elderly neighbor with their door that was about to fall off its hinges. He was there when Kuroo offered to help with the bookkeeping of a small tea shop in the heart of the town. He came along with him when Kuroo volunteered to carry a package from one side of the clan to the other when a young man couldn’t leave his ailing mother alone to do so.

He noticed the patient way Kuroo taught him how to play the pipa, never angry or snappish, and only encouraging when Kenma struggled. He was even more encouraging when he taught Kenma songs meant for the paixiao. 

“This one is so tricky,” Kenma said with a grumble, looking at the notes Kuroo had written down for him. 

“It’s an important one to know though,” Kuroo said from his spot on the lounge. “And I know you’ll get it eventually - you always do.”

It was things like that too. Not just the actions Kuroo did, but the way Kuroo always knew just what to say - for Kenma at least. 

No one else seemed to really remember Kuroo much after their interactions with him, but Kenma did. He remembered it all, and kept it locked up in his head until he figured it out.

It wasn’t just that what Kuroo was doing made people feel good. It was just that Kuroo was fundamentally good.

He was teasing, and provocative, and brilliant, and just so, so good. Kuroo might just be one of the best people Kenma has ever met. 

And so, as they grew closer together in the six months they spent playing instruments and watching Kuroo’s cat, Kenma was certain that he’d learned Kuroo’s soul.

And yet, still having learned Kuroo’s mind and soul, Kenma couldn’t quite shake that he was still missing more. 

-

The ghoul attacks began the day right after Kuroo left.

Kenma had been much sadder this time than the last, and he swore Kuroo lingered in the house for as long as possible.

“I’ll bring you more souvenirs,” Kuroo said with a weak smile as he stood at the entryway of the house. He’d been there for the past hour, and still hadn’t walked out.

Kenma certainly wasn’t going to tell him to go.

“If you didn’t bother with souvenieries, would you get home quicker?” Kenma asked, not bothering to pretend like he wasn’t going to miss the other man.

Kuroo chuckled softly, eyes so sad it killed any joy in the sound. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Kenma nodded slowly, figuring that was the answer, and pressed his lips together tightly when he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. 

Kuroo raised his hand, between them, letting it hover mid-air before letting it fall back to his side.

“I’m going to--”

“Me too,” Kenma said, reaching out to grab Kuroos’ hand before it dropped completely. He couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes, but he could do this. “I’m going to, too.”

Kuroo’s hand tightened around Kenma.

“I’ll see you in six months,” Kuroo promised, bringing his other hand up to join their already enclosed hands. 

“Six months,” Kenma repeated, expecting Kuroo to show up immediately on the first day of spring, and then Kenma was left alone in the big empty house.

So perhaps he was a little sad , and he honestly couldn’t be blamed for the fact that the ghoul attacks slipped his mind.

That was how he found himself sitting on the front porch of the house, sword nowhere in sight, and paixiao in his hands as he tried playing the difficult song that Kuroo insisted he learned.

He could get it right more often than not, but that day, Kenma only found himself struggling. He decided he would try once more before giving up for the day.

Kenma inhaled deeply, eyes trained on the placement of his hands over the pipes, when the hair on the back of his neck rose.

His gaze snapped up, and Kenma felt his heart climb his throat at the group of ghouls he saw rising up the stairs that led to the house’s front lawn.

Group because there were five of them, and they looked even more grotesque than any of the ones from last autumn. 

Kenma exhaled roughly in surprise, and the pipe thrummed with energy he’d never felt from it before. The melody that came was shaky at best, and not nearly as beautiful as it would have sounded under regular circumstances. And yet, somehow, the ghouls staggered back at the sound.

Kenma’s eyes widened, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He knew, hypothetically, it was possible to use instruments as a weapon against ghouls. He just had never done it himself before - until now. 

The ghouls recovered quickly enough, and started charging for Kenma again. This time though, he focused on his paixiao fully before he played the song with even more confidence.

The melody still wasn’t as flawless as he would’ve liked, but Kenma could still feel the power emitting from it. It flew out like a ripple through the air, causing the bodies of all five ghouls to seize up, before they were vanquished in a puff of smoke. 

Kenma’s jaw dropped. He exorcised five ghouls with a single song without so much as a scratch. 

Glancing down at the paixiao, Kenma wondered yet again if Kuroo had some inkling of what was happening while he was gone. 

Kenma never confirmed that he was a cultivator, but Kuroo had seen the sword Iwaizumi and Oikawa got him. If he was knowledgeable in the art of cultivation, he would know exactly the sort of weapon they’d gifted him with.

Maybe he was just trying to give Kenma more means of protecting himself? It seemed like a stretch, but it was the only thing Kenma could come up with.

Regardless, Kenma couldn’t let this go ignored. If he could use his paixiao to defend himself, then he was going to do everything he could to utilize it.

Kenma started with taking the spiritual side of cultivation more seriously. Before he relied on instinct more than anything else, but playing music required more intention from him than wielding a sword. 

He visited the book shop in town often, and somehow managed to make friends with Matsukawa and Hanamaki. 

“You know, you get a lot of books on meditation,” Matsukawa said one day as Kenma came for another book to help him find methods of clearing his mind.

With as calculating as he was, Kenma’s mind had never been clear a single day of his life. Still, strong cultivators all had the ability to focus single-handedly on their spiritual awareness, and Kenma needed to be strong.

“This city is very loud,” Kenma said by way of explanation. “Sometimes I need help getting to sleep.”

“Right,” Hanamaki said, clearly not believing Kenma. “Maybe pray to the heavens for restful sleep.”

“Maybe pray to the heavens for employment,” Kenma replied easily, and Matsukawa snorted.

“I’ll have you know that I do have a job now,” Hanamaki said proudly. Kenma blinked up in surprise, and Matsukawa rolled his eyes.

“I actually hired him,” Matsukawa said by way of explanation. “He helps with deliveries and pick-ups and stock. Manual labor type things.”

“His shop is making enough profits that he can actually afford my skills,” Hanamaki said solemnly, before a smile cracked through. “I guess our prayers to Tetsurou-sama paid off.”

And his eyes were still teasing, but there was something about Hanamaki’s gaze that made it clear he meant what he said. 

It seemed more and more people were actually following Tetsurou, and Kenma could admit he was becoming more invested in the god himself.

His respect came slowly, through overheard stories and none-too-quiet whispers.

The tale of how Tetsurou, along with the god Bokuto, bested a demon king in the lands of Fukurodani.

The story of how Tetsurou blessed a far off clan that took him as a patron god with weather so fair, every single crop flourished.

The promise that while it may take time for Tetsurou to answer prayers, he almost always did in some way.

And there was something about that dedication from the god that drew Kenma in. There were gods that were so busy they didn’t offer most of their followers anything, and gods with such little status they couldn’t offer their followers much.

But Tetsurou managed to provide as much as he could despite being both new and widely sought out.

It was just a shame that the temple was so far away.

Between studying and ghoul attacks, Kenma really was in no position to take long trips for a single temple. But he also couldn’t put up a shrine for Tetsurou in the house.

For one, it wasn’t even his house. Gods and spirituality were deeply personal, and Kenma refused to overstep any boundaries by putting up a tribute for a god that Kuroo may not even care for.

Second, it was a little embarrassing. Kenma had never been known to be devout, but something about Tetsurou drew it out in him. It felt strangely vulnerable to allow Kuroo to see him so invested.

Luckily for Kenma, there was a small street shrine for Tetsurou just at the entrance into Seijoh. It didn’t quite feel like enough, but at the start of every week, he went to the shrine and lit incense for the god. He also made sure to clean the ashes that had accumulated, and pick off any leaves or flowers that may have fallen onto the shrine from nearby trees.

It was the only shrine in Seijoh. It deserved to be well maintained. 

And there was no way for Kenma to know if his requests for protection were ever heeded. They said Tetsurou was a slow working god, and Kenma kept his prayers short and sweet. For all he knew, the god was simply sending him protection absentmindedly while worrying about the larger troubles he had to face.

Still, that winter, Kenma felt safer. He felt stronger. He felt more confident in his paixiao playing than he ever had. 

When the ghouls kept coming, each time increasing in strength and number, Kenma was able to beat them back. 

Still, their persistence was strange, and their growth was frightening. 

“Do you know anything about devil cultivators?” Kenma asked Oikawa one day while he stopped by to help with the gardening. He’d found the term in a book of his, but all it was able to tell him was that they were evil.

Which wasn’t really a lot to work with.

Oikawa paused from where he was digging up at a root, and narrowed his eyes at Kenma. “Why are you asking me about something as vile as that?”

“I read about it,” Kenma said, not meeting Oikawa’s gaze. “The book didn’t really give many details though, so I was curious about what exactly was bad about them.”

“Devil cultivators are cultivators who were led astray,” Oikawa said carefully, resuming his digging but keeping his eyes trained on Kenma. “They use their abilities to use ghouls and demons to hurt people.”

Kenma’s grip tightened on his own shovel. That could be what he was dealing with.

But which devil cultivator did he manage to anger?

“Why would anyone do that?” Kenma asked, frustration causing him to scowl. “Cultivators know better than anyone how dangerous that is.”

Oikawa’s shoulders lowered, and it was then that Kenma realized they were tense in the first place.

“There are a lot of reasons,” Oikawa admitted with a sigh. “Some situations are… tricky. But, still. It’s never something anyone should resort to.”

Kenma nodded at Oikawa’s words, but his mind was already far from the conversation.

Chances were there was some devil cultivator out there who was reeking havoc on Kenma’s life. They never attacked when he was with Kuroo, or Oikawa, or Iwaizumi, and that was most likely from fear of the other men.

Kenma clenched his jaw. Fine. He would just teach this person to fear him too. 

Still life wasn’t all ghouls and gods, just as Kenma didn’t just play the paixiao for cultivation. Sometimes, he just did it for himself. There were songs that Kenma simply enjoyed playing, songs that reminded him of Nekoma and his family.He missed his parents a lot, and the desire to go back and see everyone hadn’t waned in the slightest. 

But Kenma could acknowledge that he was happy here in Seijoh. It was strange, but the life he’d built for himself in a clan of strangers was one he was beginning to hold dear to his heart. 

Even stranger still though, was how lonely Kenma felt in Kuroo’s absence. 

He still had Iwaizumi and Oikawa, who he visited often enough. He had his neighbors like Kunimi and Kindaichi that he occasionally accepted invitations for tea from. He had the market, and merchants like Matsukawa and Hanamaki with whom he could silently judge other people.

But still, Kenma couldn’t shake the lonely feeling, and really it was almost funny.

Because as a kid, he didn’t have many friends. Later in life he met Fukunaga and Yamamoto, but even then he didn’t spend much time with them. So, if his memory served him correctly, Kenma spent a lot of time growing up by himself. 

Except, Kenma doesn’t remember ever feeling lonely.

But as an adult, with so many people in his life, he felt almost lost.

It was just...funny. 

-

The day before Kuroo was due to come back, Kenma visited with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. It was always nice to simply spend a day with them, relaxing and catching up. 

He brought bread from the bakery, and they brewed tea, and Kenma was happy to chat with his friends. Between studying the paixiao more intensely, and his time spent looking further in Tetsurou, Kenma hadn’t seen the duo as much as he would have liked. 

Still, they were two of his dearest friends at this point, and he actually wanted to spend time with them.

And really, Kenma should have seen it coming when Oikawa ruined it. 

“So are you doing anything  _ special  _ to welcome Kuroo home tomorrow,” Oikawa said with a teasing smile. Iwaizumi flicked him in the ear with a hiss of, “Mind your own business,” but Kenma was too distracted focusing on the way Oikawa said the word special. 

He’d savored the word, letting his voice pitch up and enunciate every syllable. Against his will, Kenma felt the beginnings of heat rise on his cheeks, and he actively kept his face blank as he regarded Oikawa.

“Why would I do that?” Kenma asked steadily, bringing his tea cup to his lips in a clear act of disinterest.

“Because the two of you are practically husbands,” Oikawa said casually, and Kenma nearly choked on his tea.

“Shittykawa--”

“Don’t you ‘Shittykawa’ me.” Oikawa poked a finger into Iwaizumi’s chest with narrow eyes. “You were agreeing with me yesterday that the two were practically married.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened in alarm, and he shot Kenma a guilty look from the corner of his eye.

So even Iwaizumi, his once strongest ally, had turned against him.

“Where would you even get an idea like that?” Kenma asked, looking between the two of them with so much shock one would think they’d just told Kenma they were gods. 

“Is it really that big a shock?” Iwaizumi hedged, rubbing the back of his neck. He said the words carefully, almost like he was scared Kenma was going to flee if he said the wrong thing. 

Oikawa was not so gentle.

“It’s like every other love story,” he insisted, leaning into the table and closer to Kenma. “He’s like the soldier who goes off every six months while you stay behind and protect the house and legacy. Then, once he’s home, you spend all your time together until he has to leave.”

Kenma hated the way Oikawa framed everything, because when he said it like that, he was almost right. 

But…

“It’s not like that,” Kenma corrected with a small shake of his head.

“Well, why not?” Oikawa brought his own tea cup to his lips, but it did nothing to hide his pleased smile. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“I guess,” Kenma mumbled, and thankfully Iwaizumi stepped in then, changing the subject to the latest gossip he heard from Kyoutani. 

Except, the change in subject did nothing to distract Kenma from the thoughts running through his head.

Namely, the thoughts on Kuroo’s attractiveness.

He’d noticed before that Kuroo was gorgeous - it was difficult to miss and objectively true. But Kenma categorized that away on his list of Kuroo Things, and hadn’t really appreciated what that meant. 

But then the next day Kuroo came home - and it was unsettling to Kenma that this was how he described Kuroo returning from his journeys - and it was like all Kenma could do was appreciate how handsome Kuroo was. 

“I brought you a gift,” Kuroo said, his hair falling attractively over his deep, hazel eyes. 

“We should make more room in the living area,” Kuroo said, the muscles of his arms flexing as he pushed furniture that weighed more than Kenma around with ease.

“Come with me into town to see about getting my robes mended,” Kuroo said, standing nearly head and shoulders above Kenma as he stretched his broad back out. 

“Let me tie your hair back for you,” Kuroo said, his large hands with its long fingers coming up to delicately play with the ends of Kenma’s hair.

And it was one thing to notice the mind and goodness of a person. Kenma made a point to note the mind and goodness of most people that managed to work a semi-permanent place in his life. 

It was another thing, although not entirely damning, to notice the attractiveness of a person. Kenma had before noticed the muscles in Oikawa’s shoulders and the color of Iwaizumi’s eyes. They were nice to look at, but never did anything for Kenma.

It was one thing to note someone was attractive with objectivity. 

It was another thing to note someone was attractive with  _ interest _ . 

And the way Kenma’s eyes lingered on Kuroo’s every other movement was far more the latter.

Kenma still made sure to keep his thoughts to himself. No matter what he noticed, no matter Oikawa’s teasing, he and Kuroo weren’t like that.

They were friends, without a doubt. Maybe even best friends - Kenma considered Kuroo to be a best friend, at least. But being ‘maybe best friends’ wasn’t enough for Kenma to assume any more of their relationship.

But all the reasoning didn’t make the thoughts go away.

It didn’t stop Kenma’s gaze from lingering on Kuroo. Didn’t stop the way he sometimes leaned into Kuroo’s casual touches. Did nothing at all to dissuade Kenma from falling asleep on Kuroo’s shoulder as they read outside on a warm summer afternoon.

It was all harmless, in the moment, when Kenma knew there was no chance he would let Kuroo catch onto the meaning behind his actions. 

It was much less harmless when a month after Kuroo returned, they decided to share drinks together.

“I don’t like the taste of most alcohol,” Kenma said with a scrunched nose as Kuroo pulled out the bottle.

“I know, but this  _ huangjiu  _ is sweeter than most,” Kuroo explained, pouring the auburn liquid into a small cup for Kenma. “Try a little, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to have anymore.”

Kenma sighed, but brought the cup up to his mouth regardless. He was sure he wasn’t going to like the drink, but his ability to say no to Kuroo had only gotten worse the longer he got to know the man.

Just as he pressed the cup against his lips, a half formed thought crossed through Kenma’s mind.

Kuroo knew Kenma was picky about his alcohol, and yet Kenma swore they’d never discussed alcohol even once before.

But as soon as the thought settled, the huangjiu was splashing on his tongue and Kenma’s eyes widened at the taste. It really was sweeter than anything Kenma had ever tried before.

It wasn’t long before he was asking for another cup, and soon the stray thought was long-forgotten.

Unfortunately, over thoughts come to the forefront of Kenma’s mind - thoughts about Kuroo that he thought he’d been doing a wonderful job keeping at bay.

Apparently it only took a few cups of some quality alcohol to destroy all of that.

But really, more than anything, it was all Kuroo’s fault. 

Kenma was just a man after all. What, was he supposed to hear Kuroo laugh as he drunkenly told a tale about a misadventure during his travels and not smile at the sound? Was the supposed to see Kuroo open the front of his robe just a little, and not stare at the tanned skin revealed to him? Was he supposed to just watch as Kuroo managed to play a beautiful song on his pipa despite his inebriated state, and not swoon on the spot?

If Kuroo was going to be as wonderful and attractive as he was, he ought to at least take some responsibility for it.

“I should take responsibility for what?” Kuroo asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

Kenma blinked slowly at him, before he realized he’d been mumbling out loud.

Instead of feeling embarrassed, Kenma just narrowed his eyes at Kuroo. 

“Should take responsibility for this,” Kenma slurred, leaning forward to point at Kuroo’s arms or chest or shoulders or just general existence. 

Except Kenma leaned just a touch too far forward, and felt all the balance in his body promptly disappear. Before his face could land solidly against the wooden floors, two hands caught him around the shoulders.

“Careful there,” Kuroo murmured, his voice low and soft and just so comforting in Kenma’s dizzying state. He pressed Kenma back until he’s sitting up properly again, and then lifted a cup to Kenma’s lips, the clay cool against his mouth. “Drink some of this, okay?”

Kenma took the cup from Kuroo obediently, and sipped at its content without checking what it was. Water, cool and refreshing, met his tongue, and then Kenma was greedily drinking the entire contents of the cup without a second thought.

Kuroo chuckled, the sound closer than expected, and Kenma glanced up to see that Kuroo moved so that he was sitting beside Kenma now.

“Did you want more?” Kuroo asked, and it was then Kenma noticed the jug of water Kuroo held in his hands.

And it was truly unfair how handsome Kuroo looked in the low lamp light as he smiled at Kenma, unfair how his eyes were still so captivating despite being a little hazy from the alcohol, unfair how good he was at caring for Kenma.

So Kenma really couldn’t be blamed when, instead of responding to Kuroo’s question with a yes or no, he instead responded with, “Why-- no,  _ how _ aren’t you married?”

Kuroo’s eyes widened so large they rivaled a full moon. His lips parted as he clearly struggled to come up with a response, and Kenma hated how distracting the action was. 

“I… what are you talking about?” Kuroo said, his voice tilting at the end like he wasn’t sure how they even got to the subject.

“I’m just being honest,” Kenma said, shifting in his seat to face Kuroo fully. “You could likely be married by now, if you wanted to be.”

A flush worked its way up Kuroo’s face then. It started at his cheeks before spreading north towards his nose, east and west towards his ears, and south towards his chest.

It was the most fascinating thing Kenma had ever seen in his life.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Kuroo hedged, his arm coming up to scratch his neck in a way that made it abundantly clear that Kuroo meant what he said.

It bothered Kenma, for some reason, that Kuroo couldn’t see just how desirable he was. 

“I can think of four women off the top of my head who think you impossibly attractive,” Kenma said bluntly, and Kuroo sputtered in response. Still, Kenma pushed. “So you could reasonably get married. Find a nice woman, marry her, let her take care of the house while you're away.”

The thought bothered Kenma, got under his skin in a way that made him want to scratch himself raw, but it was the truth. 

“Ah,” Kuroo said, and back was his easy smile he wore when joking with Kenma. “But where would that leave you, Kenma?”

It was a combination of the inclusion of Kenma in a conversation about marriage and of the way Kuroo said Kenma’s name that made Kenma’s chest seize up overwhelmingly. Kenma grabbed at Kuroo’s arm helplessly, looking up at him and trying to clear his head enough to say Kuroo’s name chastisingly. 

Instead, the alcohol made his tongue heavy and mouth slack, and Kenma ended up stumbling out, “ _ Kuro _ .”

All at once, Kuroo’s face erupted in about a million different expressions, each gone before Kenma could try and decipher a single one. 

Kenma blinked slowly once, then twice, and by the time he could focus his vision on Kuroo, the man’s face was blank of all emotions. 

“The reason I’m not married is because I’m already in love,” Kuroo said quietly. The words sounded so resigned, and even as sadness tugged at Kenma’s heart, he couldn’t help but want to do something about it.

“Well, then marry them,” Kenma insisted, his voice just as low as Kuroo’s as he struggled to maintain eye contact with the man. This time it had nothing to do with dizziness or haziness, but because his eyelids suddenly felt incredibly heavily. 

Still, Kenma managed to catch the bittersweet smile that stretched across Kuroo’s face as he said with all the certainty in the world, “I can’t.”

It was the last thing he thought of before sleep washed over him. 

The next morning, Kenma woke up with an awful ache in his head and in his heart.

His headache was easily addressed. The water and large breakfast that Kuroo had ready for him was almost enough to take care of it.

The heartache was a little trickier.

Kenma wasn’t completely clueless. He was aware he had feelings for Kuroo - romantic ones that he really, really shouldn’t be having. And while learning Kuroo was in love with someone already hurt, it didn’t just hurt because that meant Kuroo didn’t return his feelings.

It also hurt because Kuroo had made it very clear he couldn’t be with the person he wanted to be with. And Kenma couldn’t think of another person who deserved to be with the person they loved than Kuroo. 

And maybe it meant something important that the thought of Kuroo not being with his love hurt more than the thought of Kuroo not being with him.

Despite all this, though, Kenma didn’t stop noticing Kuroo.

Except now, he didn’t just notice for the sake of noticing. 

Kenma started to keep track and log all the different things there were to know about Kuroo. 

He could tell when Kuroo was starting to crave a fresh pot of tea, and could bring it to him before he even asked. He could distinguish the lines on his forehead that came from stress and the ones that came from restlessness, and when to offer him a day out instead of a day in. He figured out that when Kuroo began idly whistling a random tune, it meant he wanted to ask Kenma to play a certain song, but didn’t want to impose.

Kenma learned Kuroo so well that when Kuroo looked at him one day, his expression relaxed but a smile in his eyes, Kenma knew in that moment Kuroo was happy that Kenma was with him just in that same way he knew in that moment that he was helplessly in love with Kuroo. 

But how could anyone learn Kuroo mind, soul, and heart, and not fall in love with him?

His revelation about his feelings only made saying goodbye even more difficult.

“It never changes, but it feels like this day comes quicker and quicker every year,” Kuroo tried to say lightly, but his words held just a little too much sadness.

Kenma just nodded. If he spoke, he was either going to cry, or ask him to stay, and neither of those things would make the situation any easier.

“The fall and winter will pass by soon too, though,” Kuroo continued eyes never wavering from Kenma’s face. “It may not feel like it, but it will.”

Kenma dropped his gaze. For some reason, hearing Kuroo comfort him so effortlessly just made him feel even worse.

Then there was a brush of fingers against his cheeks, and Kenma tilted his head back up as Kuroo brushed some of his hair behind his ears.

“You’ll be okay,” Kuroo said. 

“I’ll miss you,” Kenma practically whispered. 

“Six months,” Kuroo reminded him as he stepped away and Kenma couldn’t do anything but repeat the words right back to him.

As Kuroo walked out the door, Kenma couldn’t help but wish for something stronger than a spoken goodbye to hold him through for the next six months. 

-

The ghoul that came first was the most horrendous Kenma had ever seen. 

It was large, towering over Kenma with ease. Its long, jagged claws hung from it’s disproportionately long arms, dragging against the ground. The small, dead eyes on its disfigured face locked onto Kenma, and if this had been three years ago, Kenma would’ve been frozen in fear.

But Kenma was prepared. He had both his paixiao and sword at his waist, and stared down the beast without even flinching.

Even when the ghouls lunged for him with breakneck speed. Even when the ghoul dug its claws into Kenma’s ankle. Even when the ghoul wasn’t immediately vanquished by Kenma’s sword.

Throughout it all, Kenma refused to back down, because he wasn’t just fighting to protect himself. He was fighting to protect his home, the home he created with Kuroo.

The large wooden haven had stopped being a simple house a long time ago. And as Kenma managed to slash the beast from behind its legs, bringing the creature to its knees and giving himself ample time to bring his paixiao out to play his song, he knew he would never lose against this or any ghoul.

Because what he was fighting for was much stronger than mindless rage or petty revenge.

All that being said, once he managed to beat the fifth ghoul of that strength back, Kenma sent a silent prayer of thanks to Tetsurou. 

And then immediately felt guilty.

The issue was that whenever Kuroo came back home, Kenma had this awful habit of simply forgetting about the god Tetsurou. He forgot to send thanks, he forgot to visit the street shrine, he forgot to do pretty much anything for the god.

And considering the fact that Kenma was pretty sure Tetsurou was the reason he managed to survive long enough to gain the strength he needed to fight back against the ghouls, Kenma felt well and truly awful.

So Kenma figured a visit to the temple was due. However - call it intuition or instinct - Kenma had a feeling that on the way there he was going to end up fighting.

He recalled the first and last time he visited the temple, and the ghoul that had been waiting for him on the empty trail. Kenma couldn’t place it, but something told him that there would be something even worse than a ghoul waiting this time.

Good. 

Kenma couldn’t wait to finally take down the coward who targeted him when he was alone. Let him see just how much of a problem Kozume Kenma could be.

Just before the weather got too frigid for traveling, Kenma made his trip to Tetsurou’s temple. He had his sword, he had his paixiao, and he had his wit. He was prepared for anything.

So imagine his surprise when he made it to the temple completely uninterrupted. He would be more upset about being wrong if he wasn’t so in awe at the state of the temple.

It was much larger now, with at least five stories. It was bright right all over, with beautiful gold detailing along the columns and walls. People walked in and out in a steady stream, and the smell of incense was strong even from outside the temple. 

Kenma couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It felt almost blasphemous to think, but he was proud.

“Come on, we’re going to miss Shibayama-san’s story,” a small child said, bumping into Kenma as she passed. She bowed quickly in apology, before continuing to tug her brother along.

Intrigued, Kenma followed after them. He recognized the name of the young monk who helped him last time, and wondered what story a man as loyal to Tetsurou as Shibayama was would tell.

Behind the shrine, on the soft green grass, children and adults alike were crowding around Shibayama as he sat on the ground before them. Kenma stood at the outskirts of the crowd, but was still able to hear and see the man.

“The story of Tetsurou-sama is one shrouded in mystery and observation,” Shibayama started, his tone confident as he spoke. “Yet, there is one area we’re confident about: his ascension. The gods themselves have whispered about it, and that is how we mortals have come to know it as well.”

“For someone of his caliber, Tetsurou-sama took a long time to ascend.” Shibayama’s voice took a more conversational tone then, and Kenma found himself tilting his head in interest. “In fact, he only ascended after his most treasured person died.”

Kenma inhaled sharply. How cruel.

“However, the heavens were on his side,” Shibayama continued. “Because once he arrived, he was able to find a powerful god with the ability to save his beloved’s life. But there was a catch.”

Kenma’s finger twitched.

“That person could never know anything about Tetsurou or his sacrifice.”

It was like there was a restless energy in him.

“But Shibayama-san, I heard Tetsurou-sama spends half the year with their beloved anyway.”

It had come out of nowhere, and Kenma shifted from foot to foot to try and dispel some of it.

“I don’t think anyone really knows what the gods get up to in their spare time.”

Or maybe it was more like an incessant buzzing by his ears?

“Whoever it is probably doesn’t even deserve that much attention - who could forget anyone as amazing as Tetsurou-sama?”

Kenma tugged helplessly at the end of his ponytail, the hairs on his arm rising for no reason.

“You better apologize right now! Tetsurou-sama will never forgive you for talking poorly of his loved one.

Kenma snorted quietly to himself. Kuroo would never be so petty.

Then everything around him stopped. 

Kenma couldn’t hear the words of the crowd, feel the wind against his skin, smell the incense burning in the temple just a few meters away from him.

Because that was ridiculous. There was no way Kuroo was the great Martial God Tetsurou. It was just impossible.

Except, as Kenma thought back on the rumors about the god, how perfectly Kuroo’s trips aligned with that of Tetsurou’s, the way Kenma was drawn to the god, the ease Kenma felt around Kuroo, as if they had known each other for decades instead of a few years, it sort of made all the sense in the world.

But then that would mean that  _ Kenma _ was Kuroo’s most treasured person.

Kenma clutched at the front of his robes. What a shameless, selfish, helplessly hopeful thought. 

Suddenly, the two months Kenma still had left until Kuroo returned felt like far too long. Maybe he was wrong, maybe all the things Kuroo and the god Tetsurou had in common was mere coincidence, but as Kenma left the crowd to step into the temple, he looked at the painting of Tetsurou and knew now why it bothered him so much.

Because it looked nothing like Kuroo. 

Kenma left the temple then, feeling a dizzying mix of overwhelmed and limitless. With every step he took away from the temple, a new thought burst into his head about what everything meant.

If he was right, if Kuroo was Tetsurou, if Kenma was the one that Kuroo was in love with.

_ I can’t _ , Kuroo had said about being able to marry the person he wanted to be with. What an absolute idiot. He could’ve married Kenma in that moment if he wanted to.

Suddenly, the temperature around Kenma dropped. 

He froze, his hand immediately going to the sword at his waist as he scanned the area around him. The sun was already low in the sky, but there was still enough light that Kenma could see without straining his eyes. There was no one else on the trail, and the forest seemed clear of all life, even animals. 

There was something out there though. It seemed like Kenma’s intuition had been right about a confrontation.

“So you have gotten stronger then,” a voice called out. Kenma tensed, trying to figure out its source, but it felt like it was coming from all directions. “But then again, so have I.”

There was a shift in the air behind Kenma. He whirled around and brought his sword up in a defensive position just in time to block the staff that was just moments away from striking him down.

The man behind the staff was smiling down at Kenma.

“I have you to thank for my strength though,” the strange man continued, and Kenma narrowed his eyes at him. “I had to get stronger if you were going to keep beating back every ghoul I sent your way.”

So this was the man who’d been terrorizing him for years. 

Kenma moved then, parrying his sword and swerving his body out of the way when the man tried descending on him again. 

Kenma kept his eyes trained on the man as he put more space between them. He knew he had his paixiao, but this man was quick. If he reached for it at the wrong moment, it could be the last thing he ever did. 

“You don’t talk a lot do you?” The man grinned as he asked this, spinning his staff as he slowly approached Kenma. Kenma refused to let him distract him. “Aren’t you at all curious about the man who intends to kill you?”

_ No _ , Kenma thought as he dodged the next swing the man aimed at him, deflected the swing after that, and then ducked to the side with enough momentum that he was able to aim an attack of his own at the strange man’s side. 

Just as Kenma expected, the man vanished from sight.

Kenma tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. This man had been watching him. He’d probably been studying Kenma, lurking from the shadows, and vanishing before anyone could catch him. 

That meant Kenma was going to have to focus his senses.

Closing his eyes, Kenma allowed all distractions to fall away from his mind.

It didn’t matter that Kuroo was the Martial God Tetsurou.

It didn’t matter that Kenma had been ambushed on his way home.

It didn’t matter that there was a man with unknown abilities trying to kill him.

What mattered was that Kenma would win. It didn’t matter if it happened now or in hours. 

He would win.

The hair on Kenma’s arms rose, and he felt the shift in the air above him. Kenma rolled out of the way, and watched as the man appeared from thin air and landed on the spot where Kenma had just been standing.

The crack he left on the ground had Kenma clenching his jaw.

“You know, most people think closing their eyes during a fight is a death sentence,” the man said as he rose from his knees. He still had a smile on his face, but Kenma could see the frustration there. “But not you. No wonder Kuroo is so obsessed with you.”

Kenma stilled. 

And then in the next moment, the man charged at him.

Kenma barely got his sword up in time, and his sloppy defense gave his opponent the opening he needed. Kenma hissed as the tip of staff sliced against his thigh, but he managed to leap away before the man could strike again.

But he didn’t bother. He was too busy laughing.

“I should’ve known bringing up Kuroo was what I needed to do,” he said arrogantly. “You're both hopeless about each other.”

“Who are you?” Kenma demanded, frustration mounting. What on earth did this man have to do with him and Kuroo?

“Oh, so now you want to talk,” he replied, smiling so wide Kenma could see all his teeth. “My name is Shishio Aritaka, though I suppose I need a new name more fitting for a king. I used to be a cultivator like you and your precious Kuroo.”

“But then I realized there was more power to be found in the world of demons and ghouls than the world of ascension could ever offer me,” Shishio continued, circling Kenma as he lazily twirled his staff in his hand. “It was you and Kuroo who taught me that. If you would’ve just stayed dead, I wouldn’t have needed more power to kill you again.”

Kenma didn’t let himself freeze in shock this time, so when Shishio lunged at him he was prepared. In fact, shock wasn’t even the primary emotion running through Kenma. 

It was anger.

“Again,” Kenma repeated through clenched teeth, matching blow for blow with Shishoi. 

The man laughed, the sound shrill and grating in Kenma’s ears. “What, do you think you drowned because of a simple current? No, it takes a water demon so strong that it nearly took my eye out to take down the great Kuroo and Kenma.”

Kenma swung with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, and the staff went flying out of Shishio’s hands.

Kenma immediately pointed his sword at Shishio’s neck. The man just smiled.

“This is all your fault,” Kenma hissed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. This was the man that killed him. The man that stranded him in the middle of a foreign clan. 

The man that tore Kuroo and Kenma from each other.

“This is all Kuroo’s fault,” Shishio responded, frowning for the first time the whole conversation. “If he would’ve just ascended and moved on, none of this would have ever happened. But he just had to win everything.”

Win everything?

Kenma remembered how he first treated Kuroo. He was apprehensive and suspicious. He had to be convinced into spending time with the man. He treated him like a stranger because that’s all he was to him.

Kuroo had to deal with Kenma treating him like nothing all while knowing he saved Kenma’s life. 

How dare this man think Kuroo hadn’t sacrificed so much?

Kenma’s glare sharpened and he nearly drove his sword through the man’s neck. 

But then the man’s eyes flashed red, and Kenma dashed away immediately. He nearly tripped over his feet though, and it was then Kenma realized how heavy his limbs felt.

“Feeling tired, Kenma?” Shishio asked, and then the ground started shaking below them. One by one, large, powerful ghouls bled into existence. “That’s too bad.”

Shishio vanished again, and Kenma dropped one hand to his paixiao. Ghouls were tricky, but he’d beaten them time and time again. He knew the song he needed like the back of his hand, and it would take just a few moments to vanquish them all in one blow.

But that was almost too easy. If Shishio had been watching him, he would know Kenma could take the ghouls down in a matter of seconds.

Kenma’s eyes widened, and he didn’t even bother waiting for the telltale sign of Shishi’s apparition. 

This was a trap. A trap to lull Kenma into attacking the guard while he was attacked from behind. After all, a few seconds was all Shishio would need to stab his staff through Kenma.

But luckily, Kenma had seen a trap like this before.

So he turned around, his sword already up as Shishio appeared in front of him.

The devil cultivator's eyes were wide, but Kenma didn’t allow himself time to savor the reaction. He sliced his sword across Shishi’s chest, and the man let out a strangled shout. He dropped to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands as he looked down in shock at the deep wound Kenma had given him.

Now to deal with the ghouls. 

Kenma turned back to face them, and rolled away as one dived directly for him. He kneeled as he landed, and pulled his paixiao from his waist in one smooth movement. 

This time, Kenma didn’t completely clear his mind. Instead he let Kuroo - his humor, his smirk, his gaze, his hands, his heart - fill his thoughts, and then played the song Kuroo taught him as easily as breathing.

One by one, the ghouls writhed and vanished in a puff of smoke.

Then, finally, there was a pained grunt. 

“I didn’t know that stupid song would work on me,” Shishio gasped in pain from where he had propped himself against a tree, a single hand pressing into his chest.

“You deserve worse,” Kenma said blankly, putting his paixiao away. 

Shishio laughed bitterly, though he had barely enough energy for the sound. “I’m dying, you brat.”

Kenma watched as Shishio’s chest breathing gradually got slower, before ducking down to meet his eyes. 

“You killed me first.”

He left then, not even bothering to look back. The man deserved to be as alone in his death.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about. The ghoul attacks were over now, and Kenma didn’t have to worry about his safety anymore.

Now he just needed Kuroo. 

-

The day Kuroo returned, Kenma didn’t offer him a single moment’s breath. 

As soon as he heard the man walk into their home after six months away, he straightened up from where he’d been lounging in the living area. He turned so he was facing the entryway, and as soon as he saw Kuroo, Kenma said only one thing.

“Tetsurou.”

Kuroo’s eyes flashed yellow, and for a moment the entire house shook. Kenma’s eyes went wide at the sensation, and he couldn’t help thinking that maybe the entire city was shaking.

But then it all stopped, and Kuroo was looking down at Kenma with nothing but resignation in his eyes.

“I should’ve known you’d figure it out,” Kuroo said with a sigh, entering the room and taking a seat on the end of Kenma’s lounge. 

Kenma studied the way Kuroo’s body seemed to be drained of all energy. He licked his lips, guilt beginning to build but needing to know everything for sure. 

“And me,” Kenma said carefully, trying not to overthink the way Kuroo clenched his eyes closed at his words. “I’m the person who lost all memory of you.”

Kuroo was quiet for a long while, before he tipped his head back to rest against the back of the lounge. Slowly nodding, Kuroo roughly admitted, “Yeah. It’s you.”

Kenma felt warmth spread all over his body. 

It was one thing to have a theory. One thing to hear a story as tragic and romantic as the one of the god Tetsurou, and speculate it might be about himself. One to to fight a crazed devil cultivator who implied what Kenme believed was true. One thing for Kenma to think that the man he was in love with gave up so much just to save his life.

It was a whole other thing for all that to be confirmed by Kuroo himself, for all of that to be true.

Kenma reached for Kuroo, pulling on his sleeve insistently as he hurriedly asked, “Okay, so how do I remember again?”

Kuroo froze, chest not even moving, before his eyes snapped open, and he whipped his face to Kenma. 

“What?” Kuroo asked, looking so confused that Kenma was almost offended.

“I want to remember,” Kenma clarified, looking Kuroo directly in the eyes. “How do I do it?”

“I- I don’t know,” Kuroo stuttered, bringing his knee up on the lounge and turning his whole body to face Kenma. “I wish I knew, I’ve tried looking for ways but… I don't know how. I don’t know if I even  _ can _ .”

Kenma pursed his lips, barely able to hold back a pout. “That’s really unfair though.” Kuroo looked immediately apologetic, and Kenma knew the man had no reason to be, so he quickly added, “I just mean that if in three years I’m this in love with you,” Kuroo made a choking sound, his entire face going red, “Then I want to remember how in love with you I felt after spending our whole lives together.”

No sooner had the final word passed through Kenma’s lips was Kuroo surging across the seat to kiss Kenma deeply. 

Kenma’s eyes fluttered closed, and he brought his hands wrap around Kuroo’s shoulders as he kissed him back. He let himself drown in Kuroo - in the feeling of his lips pressing insistently over his again and again, in his smoky scent that seemed to engulf them, in the warmth of his body as Kuroo pressed Kenma down until he was laying flat on his back.

Finally, Kuroo separated them, but not by much. He still rested his forehead against Kenma, breathing heavily in the air between them as he looked at Kenma like he was the best blessing the god’s could’ve ever given him. 

“To be fair,” Kuroo said roughly, his breath still coming out in harsh pants. “You never confessed before, so you might not have been in love with me back then.”

“Are you an actual idiot?” Kenma narrowed his eyes at Kuroo. “Of course I was in love with you. How could I have not been?”

Kuroo’s lips parted at Kenma’s words, before his eyes darted down to Kenma’s lips. Kenma’s eyes were already beginning to shut, prepared for Kuroo to kiss him again, when the sound of insistent meowing interrupted them.

“I hate that cat more and more every day,” Kenma said flatly. Kuroo laughed and sat back up to look over at the little cat that made its way over to the couple.

“He must’ve missed me,” Kuroo cooed as he ducked down to pick the cat up and cradle it in his arms. The cat immediately began purring, and Kenma glared at the stupid thing.

That should be Kenma in Kuroo’s arms, thank you.

“This ugly calico cat should not take priority over me,” Kenma grumbled looking at the white and brown cat with distaste. 

“It’s not ugly, and it’s not taking priority over you,” Kuroo said fondly, looking over at Kenma as he scratched underneath the cat’s chin. “It honestly kind of reminds me of you.”

Kenma glanced at the cat. He guessed the way the cat’s fur parted on its head kind of looked like Kenma’s. The cat paused, as if it could feel Kenma’s gaze on it, and then turned to look directly at Kenma.

Kenma’s eyes widened. Its eyes were the exact same shade of gold as his own.

No sooner had the thought registered was the cat leaping out of Kuroo’s arms and directly towards Kenma face. Kenma reeled back, Kuroo yelped, the cat meowed, but none of that was enough to stop the cat and Kenma’s heads from making contact for the first time ever.

Immediately, scenes begin to flash in Kenma’s mind. 

Kenma and Kuroo as children meeting for the very first time.

Kenma beating Kuroo at xiangqi for the first time, and Kuroo thinking Kenma was the coolest kid in the world. 

Kuroo showing Kenma how to fly a kite, and them lying in a clear field together.

Kuroo beginning his cultivation lessons, and Kenma always watching him as he read on the side.

Kuroo coming to Kenma during breaks, and resting his head on Kenma’s lap as Kenma played with his hair.

Kuroo introducing himself to more potential friends. Kuroo introducing Kenma to more potential friends. 

Kuroo smiling. Kuroo laughing. Kuroo growing. Kuroo learning. Kuroo turning into a man that Kenma can depend on, can spend countless time around, can fall in love with.

Does fall in love with.

Kenma and Kuroo as adults going fishing for the thousandth time. Something in the water. Kuroo looking at Kenma with panic in his eyes. Kenma reaching a single arm out for Kuroo. 

Then.

Kenma’s eyes slowly opened, and he wasn’t even aware he’d shut them in the first place. 

Kuroo was staring at him in awe, not looking him in the eyes, but looking just past Kenma. 

“Your hair,” Kuroo said in a daze, reaching his hand up to brush at it, but Kenma didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about his hair, or the fact that the cat seemed to have vanished, or anything.

All Kenma cared about was the fact that Kuroo was in front of him, and all he could really say was, “Kuro.”

And there was no shake or wobble this time. No alcohol in his blood making the name slur out his mouth. 

Just Kuro, said with the same certainty and love that Kuroo said Kenma’s name, because this wasn’t an accident. This was Kenma saying Kuro because he remembered him, remembered  _ his _ Kuro.

And as Kenma said his nickname for Kuroo with all the familiarity in the world, Kuroo seemed to shut down.

He looked at Kenma blankly, before muttering a quiet, “Fuck.”

Then Kuroo was descending on Kenma all over again, kissing him so deeply that Kenma nearly teared up at the intensity of it. 

As it were, Kenma was already crying anyway. Because he remembered Kuroo, he remembered it all. 

Hours later, after the tears and the laughter and the absolute shock of Kenma’s now blonde hair, Kuroo and Kenma laid on Kuroo’s bed. Kuroo was on his back, looking down at Kenma like he held the stars in his soul, while Kenma looked up from his spot at Kuroo’s side in disbelief.

“I still can’t believe you did all this for me,” Kenma murmured, his hand resting over Kuroo’s heart. “It’s one thing to save me, it’s a whole other thing to carve out half a year for a man who couldn’t even manage to remember you.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Kuroo said, catching the bitterness in Kenma’s voice because of course he did. He intertwined their hands, and then brought the back of Kenma’s hands to his lips. “I would do it a thousand times over for you. I love you, Kenma, and I would always choose you.”

“I’d always choose you too,” Kenma said immediately, lifting his chin up even higher. His hair shifted with the movement, and he startled at the blonde hair for the fourth time that even. 

Kuroo chuckled at his reaction, and Kenma glared at him. 

“I still don’t understand exactly how I got my memories back,” Kenma said with a huff. “Or why my hair had to change for it to happen.”

Kuroo shrugged as much as he could from on his back. “I’ve been a god for three years now, and I still don’t understand how most of it works. But…” 

Kuroo trailed off, and Kenma propped his chin on Kuroo’s chest to get a better look at him. “But what?”

“Well… I talk about you often, when I’m in the heavens,” Kuroo admitted with an embarrassed flush. “Mostly to Akaashi and Bokuto,” and hearing Kuroo refer so casually about two of the most powerful gods made Kenma’s head spin, “They were always really encouraging about us. Sometimes it was really hard to pretend not to care about you as much as I did, or know about you as much as I knew.”

“You did a really bad job at pretending,” Kenma teased lightly, and Kuroo just laughed softly in response.

“Yeah, I think it’s pretty much impossible for me,” Kuroo admitted. Kenma felt his heart skip a beat. “Still, whenever things got difficult, Akaashi would always say this phrase: ‘The gods who stole your memory away only stole from your mind. They never thought to steal from your heart.’”

Kenma’s entire face flushed all over, but he didn’t let his gaze wander from Kuroo’s. “So that cat…”

“I think it was the manifestation of your heart’s memories of me,” Kuroo said easily, as if that wasn’t the cheesiest thing in the entire world. “It just took some time for your hearts to align again. It’s probably why that cat didn’t like you very much before.”

Kenma finally folded, ducking his head to bury his face against Kuroo’s chest.

“That’s so embarrassing,” Kenma said, grateful the wide smile on his face was hidden from Kuroo.

“No, no, kitten,” Kuroo said, running his fingers through Kenma’s hair. “ _ We’re _ so embarrassing.”

“No, you’re so embarrassing,” Kenma said, finally looking up to roll his eyes at Kuroo. “And also I hate that nickname.”

“No, you don’t,” Kuroo said, and Kenma had to bite back a smile because no, he didn’t. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Akaashi had some idea about the cat, that bastard.”

At the second mention of the god, it finally dawned on Kenma that some things hadn’t gone back to normal. 

Sitting up completely, Kenma moved so he was sitting on top of Kuroo, straddling his waist. 

Kuroo blinked up at Kenma rapidly, before a wide grin crossed his face.

“Hello?” Kuroo asked, hands coming up to rest on Kenma’s hips. 

“How do I ascend?” Kenma asked immediately in response. 

Kuroo froze, and then started laughing, his whole body shaking under Kenma. 

“You never cared about cultivation even a little before,” Kuroo said in between laughter, shaking his head at Kenma. “And now you’re asking me how to ascend to godhood?”

Kenma huffed impatiently at Kuroo. “Yes, well, you weren’t up there before.”

Kuroo’s laughter slowly subdued and he sighed in contentment, rubbing little circles on Kenma’s hips. “Is that so?”

“Of course it is.” Kenma looked away from Kuroo, a scowl already on his face. “I’m not spending another six months without you.”

“It’s not really something we can control,” Kuroo admitted with a shrug. “Can’t say I don’t love the enthusiasm though.”

Kenma huffed in annoyance. “I killed a devil cultivator. Or demon king. Or  _ something _ . Shouldn’t that warrant a free pass.”

Kuroo sat up immediately, nearly knocking Kenma off of his lap. “You did  _ what? _ ”

“Do you know a Shishio Aritaka?” Kenma asked in response, eyes narrowing in thought. “Even now that I have my memories back, I have no idea why he was sending ghouls to kill me.”

“There were ghouls sent to kill you?” Kuroo practically shouted. 

“I’m surprised you’re so surprised,” Kenma said with a single raised brow. “I sent you up prayers for protection. A lot.” 

“They were the most vague prayers I ever got! I thought you were worried about the winter, or a loud neighbor, or pretty much anything other than  _ attacks from ghouls sent by a devil cultivator _ .”

“We’ve strayed from the point here, Kuro,” Kenma said, bringing his hands up to cup Kuroo’s face and bring the man’s focus back to him. “The point is that I probably did the heavens a huge favor. They should just let me in so I can be with you.”

Kuroo stared at Kenma speechlessly, before letting out a single disbelieving laugh.

“You never stop surprising me, you know that?” Kuroo’s eyes traced over Kenma’s face in complete bewilderment. “God, I just - I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“I love you, too,” Kenma said, threading his fingers through Kuroo’s bangs and pushing them away so he could look at both of Kuroo’s eyes. “I love you so much, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“And I love you, Kozume Kenma,” Kuroo said before sitting up and cupping Kenma’s face in his hands. “We’ll figure everything else out. We’ve got each other, and we’ve already proven that’s all we need.”

Kenma nodded, before slotting his lips against Kuroo’s with a pleased little hum.

He was never letting go of this, was never going to forget Kuroo again.

Kenma dared the gods to try. 

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: dramatic irony the fic
> 
> I HOPE U ALL LIKE THIS FIC IT IS NOW THE LONGEST FIC I'VE WRITTEN!!!!
> 
> if you want to come yell at me abt haikyuu or like tgcf and mdzs which HEAVILY inspired this fic, my [twitter](https://twitter.com/neenswrites) is alway open


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